


8: Aigle Doré

by TheLastFounder



Series: Master of Nothing [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A British Immortal is Born to France, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alliance Boyband, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And I'm Giving It To Harno, Arno is a Templar, Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag, Assassin's Creed: Unity, Canon Divergence - Assassin's Creed Rogue, Canon Divergence - Assassin's Creed: Unity, Canon-Typical Violence, Denis is the Leonardo of Another Age, Embedded Images, Erik Is The Black Flag Analyst, F/M, Harry Potter References, Harry Potter is Arno Dorian, I Sawed This Boat in Half, I love you like a sister Élise, Immortality of a sort, Intended to Have Loose Ends, Master of Death Harry Potter, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past and Present, Reincarnated Harry Potter, Reincarnation, Slowly Updated, Templars, Unrequited Love, War of the Templars, We Die Like Men, part of a series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22525618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastFounder/pseuds/TheLastFounder
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a boy named Harry Potter. He lost all he cared for, and found a series of artifacts that held power over life and death itself.Having found himself stuck in a series of lives, each different from the last, Harry has become an entity beyond life.Now, seven lives after his original, he is reborn in a world he knew, in an age he did not.With loss and blood staining his gaze, he chooses a route in this life not expected. Traditions, history, and expectations, all thrown to the winds.The Golden Eagle Shall Reach the Sun.
Relationships: Arno Dorian/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Master of Nothing [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1079328
Comments: 10
Kudos: 54





	1. Naissance

**Life 7: Brazen Fury**

* * *

******(Europe, 1945)**

* * *

 ******“You know professor, I’ve always wondered what you would do if you faced death on your feet.”** I said with a snarl as I faced off against the man I had once so very dear. My mentor once so very long ago, before I had become more than that idiotic boy.

Albus Dumbledore met my gaze with a strange sadness, but I couldn’t bare to see it, the familiar look of shame as he focused on my own eyes. 

“You never did tell me why you call me that, I never taught you June.” He said to me, his wand braced in his hand as he stepped closer to the gravestone. A grave belonging to a man that wasn’t meant to die. I knew this day, a duel was meant to unfold that would change the course of history forever.

Now, I take the dark lord’s place in history.

“Because you taught me more than I ever wanted to know Albus. Including how to ruin the lives of so many people, without even trying…” I growled out as the memories of my past flashed before my eyes. Fires that raged for years, deaths that never should have happened, and the love I had lost so unfairly. 

“Know that any hurt I gave onto you was not intended, and I will never be able to apologize enough.” Albus said to me with true sorrow in his tone, his wand now coming to focus fully on me, and I knew that he would not let me go.

I had too much in this life, hurt too many.

Only now did I see that I took out my pain on the unworthy, that I had done things she never would have wished for me.

But it was too late.

“It’s alright Albus.” I said to him, seeing not the flawed man before me, but the wise man I had once known, and the promises I made to him and others. “You and I will see each other again.” 

He then smiled at me, not maliciously or coldly, but the sad resigned smile of a man that knew his time was up.

“Goodbye my friend.” He said to me, and for a moment his brown locks were silver, and his eyes shone like stars in his sockets.

“Goodbye Albus.” 

And with that, we both let loose, and light filled the sky.

_The Next Great Adventure Awaited..._

* * *

**Life 8: Aigle Doré**

* * *

****Darkness.

I was surrounded by pure and utter dimness, and an odd warmth that filled my being. 

I was still, yet in motion as I felt waves of water wash over me, as I felt the oddest feelings I had ever known, and then I heard sounds so very familiar, just so very forgettable. 

I heard voices, warbled and distant, as if I was sealed away within walls so thick that the tones barely traveled. 

It wasn’t English, or German for that matter, a different language that I was sure of.

Yet… familiar, I remembered hearing this language as Harry… but wher-

Fleur. French. 

But where was I? Why were they speaking French? Was I-

I felt a movement then, the world around me shaking so violently, and then… a woman’s screams of pain.

What was… I know what’s going on, I should have realized it sooner. 

I’m being born. Again. 

This wasn’t my first new life, I had lived seven before, all worse than the last, but I had never been in control during my actual birth, usually gaining control somewhere in my infancy. 

Now, I was seeing this all through from the beginning. 

I was in France, of that I was sure, and nowhere near the glimmering lights and technologies that I had known as Harry, or even as June or Riku. 

Perhaps around the 1700’s? I wouldn’t know for now, but oddly enough I understand French now, despite never studying it.

I assumed it was a perk of the trade, as I had been gifted with knowledge before, to do whatever it was Death wanted me to do. 

My new mother was upset at something, not my birth, but at my father. She mentioned secrets and something or other, apparently my new father kept things close to the vest.

Just what I needed, another father figure that kept secrets… 

My father was interesting, his name was Charles from what I had heard, and he carried himself like he was constantly on the lookout. 

For what, I didn’t know, but I figured I would eventually. 

I knew my name now, the name I would come to be reviled as, and what I would know to be true as I grew.

My name is Arno Victor Dorian, and my father was a liar.

* * *

**( Versailles, France, 1773)**

* * *

“Father, why did mother leave us?” I asked of the man I had come to know so very well, despite the secrets he had tried to keep from me, just as he did to everyone.

My mother, Marie, had left the year before, accusing my father of treason of all things, when she had thought I wasn’t listening in. Leaving just a bible behind, my mother in this life had simply up and left. 

So now, I spent my days with my father, learning all he had to teach and learning the politics that passed for work in this time.

However, I could only cringe when we walked through the courts, and even chuckle the one time I laid eyes on King Louis. 

I was born as a Nobleman in the years prior to the French Revolution, which was unfortunate, but not as much as it was for that rigid bastard of the king. While I had studied the war in my first life, I sadly had never looked into noblemen such as Charles Dorian, which left me with questions I could never answer.

Did Charles exist in my first life? Was Arno born without my being here? And what impact did they have in the revolution? 

I suppose for some I would never know, and others I would merely have to discover.

However, I found some other answers to questions I didn’t know I had, when a rude and rough man came to visit my home mere moments later, my father refusing to even mention my mother, until this man came barging in. 

“I swear they’re up to something Charles! I saw that fucker staring at me again! And I heard footsteps outside my home!” The man growled out as my father tried to hurry me along into the other room. I had never seen the man before, his wild black locks flowing free as he eyed my father with something akin to rage, the robes he wore stately yet hurried.

Obviously paranoia plagued this man, as my father motioned with his hands for the man to quiet, but he merely seemed to rise even higher.

“Not here.” My father barked out at the man, his gaze meeting his own harshly, as they both took notice once more of me, but regardless the two moved into my father’s study.

And I was left with even more questions, of which I wouldn’t find answers for decades. 

Perhaps my mother had been right, my father was involved in something beyond my understanding, and beyond what he should as a supposedly loyal member of the King’s court.

But I did notice something odd. Our visitor wore blades at his wrists.

My father had an odd interest in history, and influenced in me such a similar interest, telling me of warriors and rogues through history, however I knew he was leaving out details or words that he purposely seemed to avoid.

He spoke often of Italy, and even America as well, speaking of friends and penpals he had met along his travels, and I even accompanied him every so often. It was so very strange, to see parts of the world that I had ravaged, but so very long ago. Places I once stood as June, I now stood as Arno.

Buildings and places I had seen and walked through, had not even dreamt of yet. 

Germany without Nurmengard, New York without Wall Street, and France without the Eiffel Tower. 

So very odd, yet incredible in ways I had never imagined. I thought seeing Britain and the world hundreds of years before my first birth was amazing, but to see a world so very different and alien from any I had seen before…

I was living history, and my father taught me even further.

We traveled the Earth, meeting diplomats and heroes, even a strange Native man in the colonies, but eventually we always returned to France.

To the King’s court, and what a court it was. 

I had become familiar with Versailles, seeing as my father often brought me along on errands and his dealings, shaking hands so many people that one would think my father was leading me to follow in his steps.

However, it was one day that it all seemed to change, when my father insisted on needing to attend the king’s court, so hurried that he couldn’t even contact my governess, forcing me to sit and wait while he tended to the court. 

“Come, sit my boy.” He said softly to me, leading me along to a fine chair outside the court’s chambers, my gaze annoyed as I settled in for a long wait as my father listened to more of the king’s rambling. 

“Can't I go with you, Father?” I begged of him, trying to avoid another boring session of remembering my lessons as I tried to figure out what my father was hiding from me. 

He merely chuckled at me, casting a warm look at me as he patted a hand on mine. “Courage, my boy.” He said simply, pulling out from his waistcoat a familiar sight. An aged and elegant pocket watch, one he had once said to belong to his own grandfather, and one I had nearly seen in such detail. 

“You wait just here. I will return when this hand reaches the top.” He said to me with a smile, his long fingers pointing from eight to midday, resigning me to an even longer wait than I had envisioned, but at least it would not take as long as the summer courts tended to go.

“How will I possibly survive that long?” I asked him sarcastically, but giving a nod as I tried to get more comfortable on the chair he’d settled me on, only to learn that it was made for elegance, not comfort. 

“I’m sure you'll manage my son, and when I get back, we'll see the fireworks. And Arno? No exploring, hmm?” My father asked with a chuckle as he looked at me in expectation. 

“Yes, Father.” I said with a stern smile, only to let my smile spread more when his back was to me. I had better things to do than wait for my father to meet with the selfish king.

However, before I could even think about it, I heard… giggling?

Yeah, childish giggling from the edge of my view, and there was a young girl in finery nicer than my own. 

Her hair was as red as any Weasley, yet her eyes held a mischievous glint in them as she laughed at me. 

“You'd rather sit with that old prune? Come on!” She yelled to me, and I immediately left the painting of some old diplomat behind, and followed the young girl.

At least she should lead to some excitement. 

After having such bitter and dark a life, it was nice to be a child once more, to just laugh and enjoy the taste of an apple stolen from blowhards, and making a child laugh. 

However, it was as she and I have seated ourselves in a corner room, that I learned even more of the life I would live. 

“Did you see their faces when we stole those apples?” The girl asked of me mid laugh, as I felt her excitement near contagious as I even laughed a bit. I had done dark deeds and even worse in my past lives, so it was nice to forget and simply find enjoyment in such little joys. 

“I'm Arno.” I said to her with a smile, my eyes trailing the crowds beyond us, when one man in particular caught my eye. He moved slowly, yet casually, like he was meant to be here, yet I had never seen him before.

However, my young friend once again caught my attention.

“Élise.” She said to me, holding out her petite hand to mine as we shook in greetings, my eyes straying to follow the odd man, a glitter at his wrist confusing me for a moment before Élise caught my eye once more. 

“I'm here with my father, he’s to see the king.” I said to her with hopefully the amount of posh yet simple tone an eight year old was meant to have. 

“Mine as well!” Élise said with a smile, patting me on the arm in a wild manner. “Maybe they’re friends!”

I doubted it, but no matter how much Élise tried to engage me, my thoughts kept lingering on the odd man.

I had been to the courts many times before, watching the crowds for interesting figures, but that man I had never seen before. 

And… I know what that flicker was.

When he had passed Élise and I, I had seen a flicker of light just at his wrist, before his hands.

A shimmer of metal, connected to some dark vambrace of sorts. The stranger wore blades at his wrist, just like my father’s odd friend, Bellic he had said was the man’s name.

What was he doing here?

“Do you hear that?” Élise asked of me, as I suddenly noticed a commotion coming from the court’s main hall, where I had once been seated. 

“Yeah, I do…” I muttered to her as I took off to the court’s door, a bad feeling emerging in my chest as I noticed the crowds of people all bunched together… and the presence of blood trailing on the king’s pristine floors…

Someone had been murdered.

“Father…?” I called out in the din of noise, only to be drowned out by the man panicking and gossiping socialites. 

While I couldn’t see the body, I knew who it was already, even as the crowd parted before me.

There, leaking blood and with empty, glassy eyes, Charles Dorian was dead.

I had lost yet another father, and in that moment, the world slowed to a crawl.

The world around me has lost it’s shine and colors, and an unearthly glow began to surround the nobles.

Blues, reds, and yellows glowing all around me, my eyes frozen on my father’s body, before I felt myself be turned away by gentle hands. 

“Arno…” A brown coated man said to me softly, my young friend at his side, her eyes wide and frightened just as mine probably should have been. 

“Everything is going to be all right Arno.”

* * *

**_Error Code 4862----Allocating most intact available memory._ **

“Simon…. Come look at this.”

“What is it now David?” 

“This isn’t right, isn’t it? I’m looking through a memory for the new project, but I’ve gotten an error code for some reason. I thought Entertainment got it all sorted out after the Cormac incident?” 

“They did. You on the Paris one?” 

“Yeah, but now it’s skipping ahead.” 

“How far ahead?” 

“Don’t know, but it can’t be too far, right? No virus this time.” 

“This is the French Assassin, right?” 

“That’s what Violet said…”

* * *

**(France, 1830)**

* * *

****I stood as the nervous young man entered the chambers, my legs aching as I did, the years not having been kind on my joints.

Never in my lives thus far had I expected to live an old age, and yet I had all the same. 

The young man we’d found so many years ago stood trembling before me, yet he had a determined glint in his eyes as he knelt before me, my hands held together as he met my gaze.

“Félix, son of Camilla and Luc. Rise and face the Order you’ve sworn to follow.” I said to him sharply, the young lad standing and nodding as he stood stock still, his hands bared forward.

“You ask to be admitted into an organization older than any alive, to seek a brighter path and do that which is not easy, but that which is right and just.” I asked of her, stepping forward to lock eyes with the nervous youth. Alceste had said how much potential the man held, and I could see it in the straining muscles of his frame, but also in the critical gaze he had developed. 

“I do, Master Dorian.” He muttered to me in respect, his gaze once more bowed, I nodded and closed my eyes as he did.

“Do you swear to uphold the principles of our order, and all that for which we stand?” I asked of him, pulling the boy’s gaze once more to me… He couldn’t have been much older than Charlie, and yet the boy was so sure of what he wanted.

“I do.” 

“And never to share our secrets, never to divulge the true nature of our work to those that would see it undone?” I asked of him once more, my greater hand straying to my waistcoat, as the boy bared his wrist to me. 

“I do.” 

“And to do so from now, until your eventual death, never speaking of your burdens or duties, whatsoever the cost?” I asked of him a final time, extending my blade to his throat as his eyes held no fear.

“I do.” 

And with his sworn vows, I motioned the boy to stand as I held a closed hand out to him. 

“Then I welcome you to an Order older than time, Félix Vallotton, son of the south and the sky. Together, you and your brethren shall help usher in an age of a brighter sky, of one without the need to stalk and plot in the shadows. An age of order and respect, stability and wisdom.” 

With my words said, I placed a silver ring in the young boy’s hand, and smiled at him. His own outshone mine by that of the sun’s intensity, and I knew his loyalty and devoted was secured.

I had gained yet another son in the Order, and another warrior to fight the shadows.

“You, are a Templar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I gotta lot of stories. But I created the Master of Nothing series to be able to explore different concepts and lives, so that's what I'm going to do.  
> Also, I've been replaying Unity and craving a Templar Arno story, and no one has really made one where he isn't gender swapped in the process.  
> SO I MADE MY OWN, AND I SAWED THIS BOAT IN HALF ELISE!  
> Hope you all enjoy  
> Also, happy birthday to me.  
> -Oscar


	2. Créancé

**Life 8: Aigle Doré**

****

* * *

******(Versailles, France,** **May 5th, 1789)**

* * *

 ******“You know, gambling is not a good habit for a middling blacksmith…”** I said with a grin as I stepped foot into the shop, the workshop a mess as I could see Victor’s frantic form searching for something within the horrid mess.

At the sudden sound, the stout man jumped and turned to me, a wary smile forming as he obviously wanted to be anywhere but here.

“A-arno, how good to see you my friend.” Victor Valluy said with a grimace, his eyes clearly trailing over to his saber, sitting on a bench and waiting to be repaired. 

I so did love when my rats were truly trapped.

“Friend? I could have sworn you said I was a blight on the Earth, and the Devil himself?” I asked with a chuckle, pulling my father’s rapier into hand, the tip of the saber trailing on the counters as I stepped closer to Victor.

“That… that was just the drink. Speaking of, you wouldn’t have happened to see my brother?” Victor asked me in such a casual way, one would think he and I were truly friends, rather than loan shark and debtee. 

I had tried to make a living here, trying not to resort to the methods I had as June, but debt collecting and loaning were honorable actions, if a bit shady.

However, I didn’t care.

“Oh yes, I believe I last saw him in uniform, ready to join the guard.” I said with a smirk as Victor’s face froze. Hugo Valluy was not a smart man, all three of us knew that, but Hugo was a good brother.

“What?!” Victor near screamed at me, pacing on the spot as I just leaned against his workbench, his saber broken behind me as I held my own aloft. 

“You see Victor, you owe me a lot of money. Your brother wanted to help pay it off, and well… no one but an idiot would hire the two of you, so I sent him to the guard. They’re always in need of spare, willing men.” I said to him so softly, painting the picture for him that I wanted him to have.

“Hugo’s an idiot! How much do I own you? I’ll pay you, and he can come home, alright?” Victor asked in a desperate way, which I almost felt sympathy for.

If I hadn’t spent much of my childhood in this life bullied by these fools, having had to restrain myself lest there be bodies, and François had already said he would not be helping me bury anyone. 

“How convenient that you have thirty-thousands Livres on you Victor. Wonder where that money was the last four times I asked for it?” I said to him seriously then, all humor gone as I waved my rapier over to the man.

I had thought it funny, to hold the two in debt and have them squirm beneath me, as I had often had done as June, but the two were incompetent idiots incapable of making a living on their own. 

Victor’s face fell flat then, as his eyes bulged in fear and desperation then, as he and I both knew that he wouldn’t be able to make that much with how little the Guard liked him.

Despite being the only blacksmithy in Versailles, they hated Victor so much that they had their goods imported from Paris itself. 

“Thirty… I don’t have that much Arno!” He sputtered out, wracking his hands through his hair wildly as he flailed around the workshop. I indulged him and allowed him to for a time, but eventually grew bored and placed my spare hand on the man’s shoulder.

“I know that dear Victor, which is why I gave your brother his position, and why I’ve come to you.” I said to him with what was likely a sharp grin, as his face paled even further as I drifted my rapier closer to his gullet. 

“Ar-”

“Shush Victor, I have an offer for you.” I said to him swiftly, stepping back from the man as I smiled, my sword being returning as quickly as it took Victor to blink. 

His surprise was so measurable that I swore I could feed all of France with it.

“Anything… just cut me loose.” 

“Actually, I had the exact opposite in mind. I have a need for an assistant, and it would pay quite well, however… if one were to refuse, I’d have to dispose of a body and find a buyer for an entire shop full of shoddy blacksmithing.” I said with a humph as I waved in the air one of Victor’s display pieces, only to see the cracks in the steel. 

Victor just blinked then, lost for words as he likely never expected such an offer, especially from me.

“Interested Victor?” 

“You’d… you’d hire me? What would I need to do?” Victor asked me cautiously, which is the wisest thing I’ve ever seen him do. Perhaps he could learn. 

“First, melt down or sell all this shit, then dress your finest and meet me at Monsieur De La Serre’s home tomorrow evening. I’ll have another task for you, and your brother.” I said with a smirk as Victor did nothing but nod, his fear and gratitude unevenly mixing as he seemed to be willing to accept anything to get me out of his shop.

“And I do believe you should do as I said. I’d hate to have to dig another shallow grave.”

* * *

“Business gone well, my son?” François de la Serre said with a smirk as I walked swiftly through the doors of the estate, the older man guiding me forward as I followed him up to his office.

“Indeed father, I gathered what Gérard owed to me, and perhaps even recruited myself an assistant.” I said to him as he closed the door behind us, the aura of normality faded as we left the sight of the servants behind.

“How goes your surveillance Arno?” François asked of me as I sat beside him, pulling my notebook free as I did, opening to the entry of the day.

“The king met with four different women today, none enjoyed themselves and promptly began to insult him behind his back, and I’ve found even further inroads to the strife forming in the lower class. Have you heard of a merchant woman named Marie Lévesque?” I asked of the man that had raised me since Charles Dorian’s death, teaching me politics, business, and espionage along the way.

I admit, it was an interesting waste of my time, whenever Élise wasn’t vying for my attention. She was quite funny, that she thought she had hid her affections for me so simply, but I honestly hadn’t felt an urge there.

After all, I had lived with her as my sister for over thirteen years, yet still she longed for my attention and to warm my bed. 

It was kinda creepy, especially since she looked a little like Ginny Weasley. 

That was a bad thing. 

Even more so since I’m thinking about this in front of her father. 

“Yes, I do believe I do. Set aside that matter for another time Arno, refocus on the court, there is more there. I expect you remember your lessons?” He asked of me as I rolled my eyes, as I recalled what he had drilled into my head since joining their family so long ago.

“Nothing is true, always look beyond.” 

“Indeed, now then, I do believe our fair king would like my company about those rude women. He called for me some time ago, but I wanted to wait for your return.” He said to me softly as he gathered his hat and coat, a nod from myself being my response. 

I had thought Charles’ constant court dates were annoying and long, but François spoke with him more than I thought possible. 

If it wasn’t for Élise’s existence and the man’s lost wife, I would have thought François loved the king or something, however annoying the monarch was. 

“What shall I do until you return François?” I asked him as he reached for the door, his smile as his parting as he nodded to me. 

“Do as you always do Arno, prove me right.”

* * *

“Master Arno?” The majordomo of the estate, Olivier, asked for me from outside my chambers, and I merely sighed as he marched his way inside. 

I had hated the man once, as he had called me the spawn of filth. Then François had assigned the man to be Élise’s test subject back when she had been so interested in learning the art of hairdressing.

Olivier had never looked more lovely than when he had been released from her cruel clutches.

“Olivier, what is it?” I asked the man, placing my pistol’s pieces aside, once again being interrupted mid-cleaning. Despite how few even knew me, I was already seeming to be caught mid work. 

“The post has arrived. Lady Élise once again asks if you’d be so kind as to accompany her to the soiree tonight, and a letter has come forward for Monsieur De le Serre.” Olivier said with a huff as he placed the letters on my desk, the stain of Élise’s lips on her letter clear to see from the stack.

I must do something about her infatuation, but I took the letter for my father figure in hand.

“Why bring it to me Olivier?” I asked him with a quirked brow, as the man simply seemed to repeat a script often said. 

“As Monsieur De la Serre had consistently spoken of how much he trusts you, I believed you to be a fair receiver of his post until he returns. Would you like your suit pressed for the Soiree?” The man explained to me with annoyance in his eyes, as he once again pressured me into going. 

I wasn’t sure quite why Olivier had so often seemed to encourage me to court Élise, considering the man hated me and she was his charge, but perhaps he prayed that I could tame her wild tendencies. 

I was more likely to marry the man himself than accomplish that, considering the last time I had asked Élise to act wisely, she had locked me inside the king’s council room and proceeded to race her way across the court. 

That was a difficult conversation with the Queen, considering she thought I was another whore of her husbands.

Difficult conversations seem to be my norm nowadays. 

“I’ll think about it Olivier… but do get Lise to mend my traveling cloak. Bullet holes do tend to put a damper in style.” I said to him with a dismissive look as I placed the letters aside to reassemble my pistol, only for my eyes to linger back on the letter left for François.

My curiosity was further piqued by the fact that the envelope wasn’t sign, but merely sported a small symbol on the front. 

A small, scarlet cross emblazoned it, reminding me of the Red Cross organization, but I don’t remember François being interested much in the medical world. 

After a few moments of staring between it and the letter of love that I dreaded, I decided to read the letter, preparing myself to apologize for it later on, but I was too curious. People tended to write something more than a symbol didn’t they? 

Pulling the wax seal away, I focused on a tense script I wasn’t familiar with, and began to read despite my growing confusion. 

_"Grand Master de la Serre,_

_I have learned through my agents that an individual within our Order plots against you. I beg you to be on your guard at the initiation tonight. Trust no one. Not even those you call friends._

_May the Father of Understanding guide you,_

_-L."_

“The hell is a grand master?” I muttered under my breath, as I scanned through the letter once again. 

What initiation? What Order?

I could only wonder about it before I sprang to my feet, placing my pistol back in its place and pulling my hooded cloak back on once again, grateful that Olivier’s rude self had left it behind. 

With a call and readying of my gear, I climbed out of my window and made my way to the rooftops. 

Better yet, who is the Father of Understanding, and why does it sound like a cult?

* * *

As usual, crowds amassed the court, and armed guards held closed the entrance. Of course, as a courtier, I was allowed to merely breeze through the doors, but I had not the time to waste confirming my identity, as they were so fond of forcing me to do.

So I broke into the King’s study and made my way through the crowds of servants and noblemen that lined the halls of the court as I kept my face down and my hood drawn. 

Something wasn’t right, and I wouldn’t be surprised if someone recognized me… But who would want to harm François de la Serre? Yes, he was a very blunt and honest man, sometimes a bit rude, but a more noble soul there wasn’t in France. 

Perhaps one of those revolutionaries I keep hearing about? Constantly I hear of riots in the lower quarters, and even more anarchy in Paris. 

Regardless, I couldn’t allow whoever sought him harm to succeed, and I pushed my way further into the building until I found myself in an ocean of souls, all crowded around the King as he let loose what was likely another riveting speech. 

Short on time, I let myself fall into an ability I had found myself new to in this life. 

I called it Eagle Sight, as it made everything so very clear to see, along with illuminating key items, locations, and sometimes even giving me an indicator whether my trust was misplaced. 

I had cut loose many clients after finding them glowing a violent scarlet, only to cut short an assassination attempt or two. 

I had never seen so many hooded people in France until I had begun loaning to those that needed it.

Course, I wasn’t heartless, many I gave plenty of time and opportunities to pay back what they had borrowed, but the Valluy brothers needed that extra push to stop wasting all of their, and my, money on ridiculous card games. 

With my eyes losing shade, I scanned the crowd thoroughly, taking notes of the enemies I saw within, before I finally laid eyes on my mentor holding a conversation with a fellow Nobleman, but not one that I was familiar with. As I stepped closer, I couldn’t help but hear a portion of their conversation, which left me with even more questions. 

“So, who or what will take its place? Another King? A council of capable men?” François asked of the man softly, which made me think back to his lessons on the monarchy. What was better, an idiot but feeble king, or a wise, but troublesome one? 

“That is the question, isn't it?” The other gentleman said with a hint of levity, as they seemed to size each other up then. I had assumed them friends, but that looked like doubt on their faces. 

“A truce, then?”

It was then that I finally reached their spot, and François took notice of me and waved me forward.

“Well this is a surprise surely.” François said to me with a smile as he gestured to his companion. “Arno, this is my friend Mirabeau. Mirabeau, this is my son Arno.” He said to the man, and I shook hands for the sake of society, but I turned to the man that had raised me with a serious look on my face.

“Élise asked me to marry her.” I said to him as his eyes widened in understanding. We had set forth a series of codes between the two of us, in the event we needed to convey a point in less than stellar companionship and still remain covert. 

I told him his life was in danger.

“Then I do believe we must discuss that. Mirabeau, we’ll have to continue this later my friend.” François said politely, yet swiftly as he began to pull me along to an exit. 

“It was a joy to meet you Arno.” The odd man in black, Mirabeau, said to me in grace as I returned the courtesy. 

It was as we stood in the shadows, François and I, that I slipped the letter free of my waistcoat and into his eager hand. He just looked at the broken seal and then back to me with a smirk.

“I was… tempted, but you’ll thank me for taking the dive. Someone means to kill you François.” I said to him in a whisper as he began to read the letter, the words of it forming on his lips before an almost magical sense of age came over him.

He looked at that moment older and more ragged than I had ever seen him, and he turned to me with… sadness, in his dark eyes.

“Arno, we need to leave right now, have you seen Élise? Last I saw she was hurrying away to speak to one of her friends.” François asked with an emphasis on friends, as he and I both knew she used the term as an excuse when she intended on making trouble.

I had thrown my fair share of fists when she had annoyed men and women much stronger than herself, and often myself included. 

However, I knew her well enough at this point to know she’d follow me wherever I go.

“I’m sure she’ll follow after us, but we must be leaving François. It is your life in danger, not hers.” I reminded him sharply as he nodded in turn, but he spared a last look to the crowd.

“I do hope you’re right.”

* * *

“Welcome home sirs, you’re early aren’t you?” Olivier said to us in surprise as we strode into the estate, but we were too focused to allow him to delay us.

However, I did notice what appeared to be scratches on the doorframe to the study, which worried me greatly.

“Father…” I said to François, using the term heavily to let him know I thought us not alone, and he seemed to agree as he slipped his own pistol free of its holster, covering his hand with the flaps of his coat. 

However, my paranoia seemed unfounded when we walked in, not a soul in sight aside from the open window.

Not a hitman lying in wait, but the house had been broken into, and the study was it’s focus.

François’ desk was thrown against the wall, it’s drawers ripped clean off as paper covered the floors.

However, it was to my interest to see the aged bookcase thrown aside… and a doorway I had never seen before standing where it once was. 

“A secret room François?” I asked of him with a gesture, but the man merely sighed as he made for me to follow him into the mystery room, only to find stairs leading below into what had to be leading to the servant’s quarters. 

I held my tongue and followed, into what looked like someplace out of the Crusades… 

Ancient swords, suits of armor and robes, and in the center of it all was a wooden pedestal, with a simple wooden box and an aged book on it. Everywhere I looked, I saw that same crimson cross, over and over again.

Turning to my right, I saw glass display cases holding mannequins, all wearing different sets of armors emblazoned with that symbol. One even wore robes similar to the men that I had killed before, however this set was decorated in blacks, reds, and whites, rather than the bright colors they had favored. 

I thought I knew that cross from somewhere, but the name wouldn’t come to my mind no matter how hard I struggled.

Turning, I saw François, the second father I had known in this life, holding what appeared to be a bronze orb, however he held it absentmindedly. 

“François… What is all of this?” I asked him in shock, as he merely placed the orb aside sadly, and gestured me over to a set of chairs that looked older than even I was. 

“Relics of an organization spanning back to the beginning of humanity… And one that has seemed to betray me.” He said to me with a snarl as I raised my hands to him in peace.

“What organization? That letter called you a grand master, what’s going on father? What is this Order?” I asked of him, for once using the term that I had only used as a code, because… despite the fact that this life of mine had already given me a father, and I had been gifted with a few in the past lives, he was probably the best I could have had.

I wasn’t even his, yet he had treated me as flesh and blood, had ensured I knew all needed to survive in a world so very different from the ones I usually traveled.

He stood before me then, and glanced down to pull a ring off his finger. It wasn’t anything special, one I had seen him wear constantly over the years.

But only now did I notice the red cross emblazoned on the steel… 

“Have you ever heard of the Order of the Knights Templar?”

* * *

 **From:** David Kilkerman

 **To:** Juhani Otso Berg

 **Date:** November 17th, 2014

 **Subject:** Arno Dorian

* * *

We found something you’d be interested in. 

I told you the French weren’t boring, and it seems I was right. Da Costa’s already on her way.

Seems the history books have been lying to us again… 

**-D.K**


	3. Observateurs

**Life 8: Aigle Doré** ****

* * *

******(November 24th, 2014, )**

* * *

 ******“You know Berg, when you said I’d get to be a Templar… I expected to actually be one.”** The latest Templar initiate said to herself as she sat on a plane on course to France, of all places.

Darcy Kennedy had joined Abstergo Entertainment earlier that month, expecting to be working on video games and VR explorations of ancient times.

Instead, she was forced to live through the memories of an Assassin turned Templar, and then given the choice of joining the Order, or death.

After seeing the Order the way Shay had, she had gladly joined the Order, expecting to embark on some secret mission, or to fight back against the Assassins hiding in the shadows. 

However, now she had to drop everything and fly to France, because her boss said she’d be perfect for the Dorian Project. 

Apparently they had wanted the last Analyst to synchronize Dorian, but then that whole thing with Standish happened and they disappeared, and now Darcy had to jump back into Helix and live yet another Templar’s life… 

Maybe by the time she’s done, they’ll realize she might as well be Grandmaster with how much she knew of the Order. 

She could hope, that is.

* * *

“Ms. Kennedy, welcome to Abstergo Paris,” A pudgy man with a horribly unflattering goatee greeted Darcy as she finally reached yet another Abstergo complex, one much less comfortable than the one she had worked in before. 

She hadn’t even known there was an Abstergo Paris until Berg had called ahead, as she had assumed like most people that Abstergo was mostly based in Montreal.

However, upon seeing the complex, she had to say she liked Montreal better. The Paris location was nothing better than an outpost, with a few bunk beds along a wall, a measly cafeteria and laboratories, and what she knew to be an Animus. 

“A bit small, isn’t it?” Darcy asked the researcher as she was shown around the premises before coming to a stop before the Animus. She hadn’t actually seen one in person before, having worked in the Helix program, but she was even more confused by the fact it was wired to an Helix console.

“I see you’ve noticed the addition. The Helix servers are experiencing errors, and we have cause to believe that our enemies may also be researching Dorian. Because of that, we’ll be having you operate within a private server to avoid complications.” Kilkerman explained in a simple state of fashion as Darcy merely let it go. She had avoided the embrace of death just a week ago, so she wasn’t in too much of a mood to rebel just yet. 

“Is Berg here?” She asked the man as she was helped onto the seat, wincing a bit as the IV pierced her flesh, and the thrumming of the machine began to fill the room.

“Mr. Berg will be observing your progress, but he is quite busy. However, another will be in charge of the program, and before you ask, it is not Lemay.” He said swiftly as he drew up the Helix data of Arno Dorian, missing the look of relief on Darcy’s face.

Melanie Lemay wasn’t exactly popular among her coworkers, those from Abstergo or the Templars. 

“So, what can you tell me about Dorian? I’d rather not go in blind like I did with Shay.” Darcy said with a sigh as she remembered the confusion of Shay’s early memories, and the complications the Virus had posed. She had never done as much hacking in her life as she did during that project, but the work had certainly worked well to open her eyes. 

“The Templar Archives stated that Arno Dorian was an Assassin, raised by the once Grandmaster of the Parisian Templar Rite. Upon the death of his adopted father, he was arrested and imprisoned in the Bastille, where he was recruited into the Assassin Brotherhood.” Kilkerman explained as Darcy placed the headset on herself, her eyes adjusting to the title screen of the Helix system, the image of an aged Paris at mid afternoon meeting her gaze. 

“So, what’s so interesting about him? Did he have an Apple? Meet a Sage or something?” Darcy asked as she logged into her previous credentials, pleased that the system remembered her and oddly offered her Animus modifications. A familiar set of robes appeared as a selection, along with an odd sword with golden wings as its hilt. 

“The ‘interesting’ thing, is that both the Assassins and the Templars have stated in their records that Dorian was an Assassin of great skill, yet when I reviewed some of the early memories of Dorian, I found contradictions with what history stated to be fact. His adopted father, François de la Serre, was said to have been murdered and Arno framed for the crime, yet… I have seen De la Serre survive.” 

“Why would they hide something like that? You’d think the Assassins wouldn’t want one of their enemies listed as theirs?” Darcy asked of the man as she felt a familiar pulse leave the device and enter her body in a rush, a slur of words blurring through her mind in a flash. 

“Find out yourself.”

_The past is not lost, the past lives inside us._

_Encoded in the Double-Helix, are the experiences of our ancestors. After three decades of research, our engineers have forged the cutting edge of biotechnological interfaces._

_We have unlocked the lives of our forebears._

_We have opened a window into the past._

_This is total immersion entertainment._

_With the press of a button, you will experience the most pivotal moments in history, all from the comfort of home._

_Welcome, to Helix 2.0._

_Where the past is your playground._

__

**User Signed In: Numbskull**

“God damn it Violet…”

* * *

“Tran, you wanted to see me?” Johani Otso Berg said with a sigh as he finally sat down at his desk after too long of a day, having to deal with the surprises coming out of the Paris facility, and having to convince their initiate to jump back into the program.

Now, not even a moment of peace, and their security chief, Philipa Tran, had come barging in on supposedly urgent business. 

Now, the man just stood before him with a flash drive in hand, a nervous look on his face as he tried to look anywhere but at Otso’s face. 

Meanwhile, Otso had to resist tearing the man’s head clean off, which didn’t alleviate the man’s stress much. 

“Sir… you remember my report from last year? Where I mentioned finding a source of information? An informant?” Philipa said with a stutter, as Otso could only nod. The security officer had said he had reached out to some unknowns with permission, and managed to find them an ancient cache of Assassin documents, which had actually led them on the trail to Shay Cormac, which he held appreciation for. 

“Yes, you said there was a hacker of sorts that responded?” Otso asked of him, making it clear his disdain for the hobby after the Cormac incident, and after what happened in Chicago… 

“Indeed, I’ve formed a stable connection with them, and they’ve agreed to support our cause…” 

“They know of the Order?” Otso asked with a furious curiosity, as he, as the Black Cross, was adamant in protecting the sanctity of the Order and its secrets. 

“Sir, I can’t give you answers that will suit your desires. Merely, to give you this.” Philipa said quickly and lowly as he placed the flash drive on the desk, then turned on the spot and left as soon as he could.

Thinking on it, and debating the risks, Otso picked the drive up and inspected it. 

Seemed a standard issue drive, the type one could find at any supply store, but there were words scrawled on the sides of it in white ink. 

Plug Me In

Feeling the risk over in his mind, Otso took a breath and slid it into his computer, only for the entire screen to go black.

Fearing a prank or some corporate espionage on Tran’s part, Otso picked up his phone for a moment, prepared to call security on their own chief… 

When the screen changed once again, and Otso had to sit back in wonder. 

* * *

**(Versailles, France,** **May 5th, 1789)**

* * *

 ****“I thought the Templars were wiped out ages ago?” I asked with slight confusion, however glad to have the name brought back to mind. I had studied the Crusades in a previous life, and had been reminded of it by Charles and François, but I now had the answer to the crimson cross I had seen dotted across the Estate. Knowing his ties now, his home made it clear what François’ allegiance was.

“Only the Grandmaster and his advisers,” François said with a frown as his eyes seemed to dull, leading me to believe he was fully versed in the group’s history. “However, the Grandmaster had several secret apprentices that he sent underground before the collapse of the Order. They took his teachings to the corners of the Earth, and rebuilt the Order from the ground up.” 

While my father spoke of this ancient order, I felt the oddest feeling, the same feeling I had felt upstairs, but to an even greater effect.

We were being watched, even still, no matter how much my senses said otherwise.

“Who are the hooded ones father?” I asked of him, thinking back to the men I had fought and killed, and to the near identical looking outfit in the corner, and black variation that sat near it. 

Here, François smiled to himself as he stood once more. 

“Our oldest enemies, since the very beginning…” He said in a near whisper as he walked over towards the sets of robes, and pulled a crate from beneath the dark robe.

Unlike the ornate box that sat with the book, this was a steel box of reinforced design, the kind you would use for strong chemicals or more valuable or volatile items.

However, when he opened it, he pulled free a silver bracer of sorts. It had intricate designs inscribed in the metal, but I noticed a particular detail of it. The bracer, more of a gauntlet, had a metal casing attached to the underside of the wrist. 

“The signature weapon of an order as old as our own, and just as stubborn…” François said with almost honor in his voice as he blew the dust off the relic, and then walked to me.

Holding it aloft in the air, he pointed it towards the mannequins, and put the bracer onto his wrist with practiced ease.

The straps engaged, and the metal in place, he flexed his hand backwards in a grand motion.

And a long, sharp blade shot forward out of the bracer. 

“The Hidden Blade, the first weapon given to the members of the elusive Assassin Brotherhood.” He said with a wry grin as he took the bracer off with the greatest care before placing it aside on a stool. Then, he turned to me once more with care in his eyes.

“Just as we have endured the trials of time, and moved and expanded across the Earth and history itself, the Assassins have done the same. Just as we have evolved and changed, much have they.” 

“Then, what’s the point father? I mean, the Templars did next to nothing but pillage and spread Christianity.” I asked him, wondering how that fit into what I and many had known of the group, knowing that there had to be more.

“That was what they did often, but it is much more complicated than that my son.” François said swiftly before taking a long pause, as if he was debating how best to explain the order he had sworn his life to.

“Do you understand the nature of humanity, Arno?” 

“I would like to say I do. A desire for love and happiness, however there are dark tendencies that spring forth greed and hatred.” I argued to him, believing my description to be fitting considering all I had seen, done, and experienced in my lives thus far.

“An apt view, and an accurate one to how the Order works. Despite the best intentions of people, hate emerges. Despite the diplomacy and kindness of strangers, yet still war survives. The Templars believe that in order for humanity to truly know peace, the Earth must be united under one government, and they must be united truly. One government, one religion, one goal. Only then can humanity ascend to the levels once ordained by they who came before.” François said in a grand manner, that honestly did make much sense. 

Of course, that obviously was Totalitarianism at it’s finest, but I did understand what he meant. I had seen the goods and bads that came about because of Free Will. Beauty, science, and evolution existed because of free will, but so did atrocities and traumas beyond the understanding.

“The Assassins are the opposite then? Believing in free will and anarchy?” I asked him, which caused him to laugh then to my surprise and look once more to the hidden blade. 

“Oh yes, but I doubt many would claim to covet anarchy, but that’s very close to their views. They have a creed they follow, just as we do, but more open ended. Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.” 

In that, I had to think about it, because obviously there was more to their creed than simply that.

From what it sounded like, it sounded like permission for utter anarchy and madness. Nothing being true would provoke paranoia and hate. Everything being permitted would encourage murder, thievery, and whatever crime they could possibly imagine or want to commit.

Perhaps it was more philosophical? A warning? 

Perhaps it meant that everything being permitted meant they had to be wiser and more careful.

“There was thought put into that, despite how ruthless and wild their creed seems.” I said with a cough as a shiver ran down my spine oddly enough, but I looked once more at François.

“Many are as ruthless as your mind imagines, but not all my son. My friend and ally Mirabeau is actually an Assassin.” François said to my surprise, as I thought back to the odd man in black, thinking about how differently he acted and dressed from the hooded men.

“I thought they were your enemies?” I asked him, trying to understand why he would work with his enemies, but then I remembered their conversation at the court.

_A truce, then?_

“They are, however, I have come to the realization this feud has gone on for too long my son. I believe that neither the Templars nor the Assassins are right in their approaches, but neither are they wrong. I believe that through patience and reasoning, the orders could merge peacefully. Foresight and planning backed by ferocity and resourcefulness. We could build a better world together, one not so wild and painful as the one the Assassins advertise, and not one so depressing as that which my colleagues seek.” François said to me in a whisper as I looked down to my breeches, and thought it over.

It was a valid line of thought, taking a powerful enemy and attempting to make them your ally. Either the Templars and the Assassins could accomplish their goals together more easily than they ever thought possible, or the conflict would continue as it always did. Nothing could really be lost if it failed, aside from lost trust and heightened aggression. 

“Is this why your allies have betrayed you father? Because you seek peace with the Assassins?” I asked of him with a jolt of movement, to which he only nodded in response. 

“I believe so, but I do not know of who it may be. That letter you received was from my closest ally and adviser, Chrétien Lafrenière, least him we can trust.” He said with a smile as he and I sat still once more, the silence overcoming us.

“We have to lure them out into the open then?” 

“That is correct.” 

“This… this initiation Lafrenière mentioned, we’re going to it, are we not?” I asked him, knowing the answer already.

It was obvious. Go to the event, pretend that we didn’t know what was planned, and catch the wannabe assassin in the act.

“Later tonight, there will be a soiree, Élise has likely mentioned it,” He said to me with a glance, which I could only groan at.

That damn soiree that she had been pushing on me for ages, asking me to accompany me as her guest.

“At the event, Élise is set to be initiated into the Order, to become a Templar.” 

“She knows? She’s at risk father!” I nearly yelled at him, as despite her infatuation with me, she had become a dear sister to me and I did not wish her to be harmed.

“Your sister is more capable than you have been led to believe, but I do understand your point. In all likelihood, there will be an assassination attempt at the event, and I do not want her anywhere near my colleagues at the moment, considering the fact almost any of them could be the plotter.” He said with a huff as he looked genuinely angry at this point, unlike the annoyances that he had faced in the time I had known him.

It was obvious that he held much pride for Élise, and had looked forward to the event, but fate had played out as it had, until he looked at me. 

“I have an idea Arno, a wild one befitting of an Assassin, but a good one.” He said to me quickly then, a tricky smile on his lips that left me leaning back. I had never seen him in such a mischievous mood.

“Do you?” 

“Indeed,” François said with that same growing grin, before he looked to the right of us, at those mannequins once more. A set of white and red robes caught my eye then, the collar well-cut and a familiar design, the robe itself modeled to fall past the knees and sweep in had to be a dramatic way.

“Arno, would you care to take your sister’s place at the initiation?” He asked me then, throwing me off guard, but it was not unexpected. 

I had believed that this history lesson was a recruitment, but to think that he was this willing to recruit me? 

“You want me to join your Order?” 

“Of course, I had made promises that I would not actively try to add you to our ranks, to leave it up to you, but this would be an able opportunity to strike at the traitor. And as your father, and the Grandmaster, you would be expected to travel with me.” He said with an honest and genuine grin then, and I fully believed him, and… I was kind of considering it.

I had learned so often of the dangers of control, of how important free will was. My friends, my mentor, hell even Sora would be telling me to refuse, to join up with those Assassins and protect the sanctity of humanity. 

However, I wasn’t naive enough to believe that their cause would actually work. Anarchy does not create peace, and while the Templars seemed to subvert free will and individuality, that would at least promise a peaceful world. 

Besides, it wasn’t like I was actually joining right? I doubt he’d really bring me in after knowing about the Order for an hour, likely we would merely pretend to drag the traitor into the light, but perhaps more would come.

I had done much in my existence, learned many truths and lies of who I should be, and what I should do.

However, I knew now that a decision sat before me, that would send me in varying different directions.

It wasn’t too late after all, and I doubt that François would mind too much if I joined the Assassins, he said they were his friends after all, or at least allies.

But… staring at that cross, these artifacts and relics of the past, of ages that I could only dream of seeing… 

Centuries of worship and recruitment into this Order would not have happened if there wasn’t a validity in their cause.

As well, I liked the sound of finally bringing peace to this ancient rivalry, and a merger would sound good to smooth out the rougher edges of the groups. 

Looking over to the Templar flags hanging from the ceilings and the armors cases, then to the hidden blade that I could only wonder where my father got it, I finally turned back to him with a smile.

“Yes, I will join your cult.”

* * *

**SEQUENCE 1: MEMORY 2 COMPLETE**

**HELIX HAS DETECTED A BREACH IN ABSTERGO SERVERS MATCHING AN IP ADDRESS PREVIOUSLY FLAGGED**

**ADMIN ACTION ADVISED**

“Took you bastards long enough... ” Juhani Otso Berg said with a smirk as he watched the dormant form of Kennedy quiver in the seat, and could only flag down the researchers to tap into the signal.

“Enable a tracking module, I want that signal found.” 

“That will take time Sir, but we could try another avenue?” Kilkerman suggested to him, which made Otso look in intrigue.

“What would you suggest?” 

“We still have those unstable servers, from Jazz Age Junkies?” Kilkerman explained, drawing Otso’s attention back to the side project that had been started in the Entertainment lab.

“You want to put our intruder into them.”

“Exactly sir.” 

“Get it done immediately.”

* * *

**_“Bishop, what the fuck am I looking at?”_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some modern day to this story, as is signature to the Assassin's Creed story, from the Modern Day Templars.  
> Also, I just love the idea of a bunch of Assassins and Templars being confused af hearing about Arno Dorian, then seeing what Harno is doing.  
> Also, most of the Templars in this story will be from Rogue. This is basically a direct sequel to the events of AC Rogue. Darcy is meant to be the character you play as in Rogue, the Research Analyst.  
> Also, sucks to be the folks on FF, since I don't know how to embed images on there. Sucks to be them.


	4. Révélation

**Life 8: Aigle Doré**

* * *

**(** **Versailles, France,** **May 5th, 1789)**

****

* * *

Garbed in robes denoting the Order, and of a fine cut not too dissimilar to the suits I had seen worn around the court, I cut a fine figure if I had to say so myself.

François had run me through the politics of the Order, his allies and aggressors, but he still wasn’t too sure of who had chosen to go against him.

So, I was given my own little moment of having to learn eighteen years of knowledge in the course of an hour.

“I would grant you a new saber, but I know you’re quite taken with your rapier, so I won’t bother. However, I have a gift for you.” François said with a smile as I finished strapping on my vambraces, my gloves peeking out from below.

He thrust a bundle of leather at me, which I took carefully and unraveled in no time at all.

A fine pistol of ivory, affixed with a finely carved woman’s face on the hilt, gold engravings trailing along the barrel leading to a pointed barrel with something akin to an antique iron sight. 

“A great addition father.” I said with a smile as I introduced it to my holster, the weight a comfortable presence at my side as I switched my rapier to the other side, having found I was a better shot with my right hand. 

“Indeed. A tradition we share with the Assassins, is that each Interim is given a weapon or tool upon their initiation, or graduation in the case of the Assassins. I was given a Royal saber, another Templar I used to know was given a rifle, another an axe. I hope this pistol fares you well, but we haven’t much time left.” François said with a nod as I walked over towards the staircase with him by my side, the two of us walking in stride.

“Do keep in mind that I have never said anything about you joining us to my fellows. They will doubt your presence, but we will simply have to pass you off as a secret. Say that I’ve been training you as my successor in private.” François said as I moved the bookcase back into place, and I merely nodded.

From what I had heard of the secrecy involved in the Order, I figured it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that their Grandmaster would train a pupil in private, but I could only wonder about Élise’s reaction.

From what I had learned, she had been training for this since before I first met her, and I could only guess how she’d respond when told that rather than her ascending to the Order, I was to take her place.

Hopefully well. 

“Now then Arno, keep your eyes peeled while we are there. I will try to fill you in on who is who, but you must stay alert. There will likely be an attempt made on my life, and perhaps on yours as well, but we must remain vigil.” François said with a degree of caution as we left the estate, Olivier waiting outside with a carriage already stabled. 

“I will keep myself aware, father.” I responded as I patted my wrist, my new found gauntlet fitting well to my form as I let the majordomo help me into the carriage, the fine leather accommodating. 

“Do not worry about Olivier as well, while he is not a member of the Order, he is an affiliate, and can be trusted with social affairs.” François said with a grimace as he pointlessly looked to me as he said that. So, Olivier could be trusted with Templar affairs, but not the more delicate matters, like the fact that François was likely to have an attempt on his life tonight.

A clandestine night then, among an Order older than I was.

I really hope I’m making the right choice here.

* * *

“François de la Serre! One guest!” The guard said with decorum as François and I made our way through the gates, the two of us staying together as the crowds parted around us.

“Quite a crowded affair, I’m aware. Our Order does tend to draw large audiences.” François said with a smile as a fellow courtier led us through the courtyard, fireworks exploding overhead and filling the world with a golden light barrage.

“And plenty of room for an assassin to slip away…” I snarked under my breath as I scanned the crowds around, Eagle Sight kicking in as I focused on person to person, taking note of the spots of red I saw amidst the masses.

One even catching my eye, a short stocky man in a top hat who walked alongside a filthy looking man, thought before I could focus too much, the ratty man broke off and into the estate. 

“Father, that man there… who is he?” I asked François as I slowed us to a stop in the entrance hall of the estate, François’ eyes falling on the odd man in question, his lips parting back in a small snarl. 

“Charles Sivert, a brigadier and one of my advisers, thought not one I chose. His position was secure before my ascension, and he came along with the job, though I enlisted him in the military to keep him out of my hair.” François said with obvious dislike as I found myself scanning the man. A blazing red encased him, the light streaming off him like noxious fumes.

Sivert was an enemy.

“I do not trust him father, my… sight, deems him a foe.” I explained to him briefly, making reference to my training. I had enlightened him to the strange ability I had developed years ago, after he had all but asked if I had it. I had assumed it was normal in this reality, but I guess it was.

Yet another tradition of the Assassins, given to me from Charles Dorian’s bloodline, now in service of the Templars.

Seemed to be a trend of mine now.

“Hmm… I did not think him brave enough to be a traitor, but I have been mistaken before. Anyone else catch your eye Arno?” He asked of me as a mob of noblewomen moved past us, discussing me from what it sounded like. Fortunately, it wasn’t to do with my ties, but more to do with the fact they wondered if I was taken… 

After being drawn into this web of conspiracy, it was nice to encounter regular people. 

“Not many, but I did see this… homeless man, I think, talking with Sivert.” I said under my breath as we watched Sivert walk off into the shadows of the one of the hallways, fading from our view.

François seemed to be caught off guard there, before turning me around to face him.

“White hair? A filthy coat, with a battered hat?” François asked me as I thought more about the stranger I had seen. That fit his appearance well, which told me that he held some ties to the Order, which was unexpected.

“You know him?” 

“Le Roi des Thunes, the king of beggars… He’s an underworld figure, thinks of himself as a filthy philosopher. He came to my chambers some time ago, pledging his services to the Order…” François said with an odd tone, which made me think there was more to this Roi des Thunes… I sensed a but coming along.

“What happened father…?” 

“I turned him away. I rejected his services, saying… saying that the Order could not have use for the intrigues of rats.” François said with some regret, as he and I both realized that what we’d stumbled onto. 

I had assumed that there was too be an assassin, not of the brotherhood but one working for François’ colleagues, but this was more than that. 

A conspiracy, instituted by one of my father’s advisers. 

“We’ve found our conspirators…” I muttered under my breath as François and I found our way to the ballroom of the estate, soft music playing underfoot as light shined all around us. 

“Some of them, at the least, but I doubt all of them. As I said, Sivert is not a brave man, which I believe means that there are more involved. There is a mastermind behind this, do not doubt that.” François said as he pat my shoulder and led me to the edge of the room with haste, my eyes active and aware as we carried on.

“Now then Arno, I must consult with Chrétien, as Élise is still on schedule to be initiated, so I must correct matters. I will be safe for the moment, as I very much doubt they will try anything until after we’re finished.” François said with prompt as I nodded in turn, loosening the strap on my holster in the event I needed to act quickly.

I would hope I’m still as quick a shot as I used to be. 

“Now then, Élise should be among the crowd, find her and inform her of the change of schedule, and do keep an eye on her until it is time.” François said in parting as I shook off my nerves. I felt this foreboding feeling on my spine, the same as I felt before in his study, and in the secret chamber.

This overwhelming sense of being watched. 

“As you wish father.” I said with respect as I took off into the crowd, keeping my eyes out for my flirtatious sister, only to be drawn back by a woman or two that tried to coerce me into a dance, only to see the swell of Élise’s dress through the parting crowds.

“Élise!” I called out as I took off after her, keeping an eye on François as I saw him standing towards the balconies with an older man in robes practically emblazoned with the Templar cross. 

_“That must be Lafrenière.”_ I thought to myself as I broke through the crowds with no traces of my sister in sight.

“Damn it Élise, where did you go…?” I muttered under my breath, only to spin on the spot as I felt an arm wrap around my chest, my palm flying upward to my assaultant’s throat, only to see the surprised form of Élise looking back at me.

“You’re so tense Arno, what’s wrong? And… is that one of my father’s suits?” She asked of me, clearly avoiding mention of the cross emblazoned on my waistcoat, which I just smiled at in return.

“Well, one tends to be tense on their initiation, wouldn’t you agree dear sister?” I asked her with a grin as I once again reminded her, much to her displeasure, before her eyes widened in shock.

“What did you say?” 

“I’ve been enlightened into the masquerade Élise, and our father believes me ready to begin the great work of the Order.” I said to her as she looked on in disbelief, before her face fell into a furious gaze. 

“What is happening Arno? I made him promise not to bring you in…” She said displeased as I led her to a slow dance across the floor, my eyes constantly watching the eyes on us, watching our watchers.

“I received a piece of information meant for François from his top adviser, someone here will make an attempt on his life, and I was to take your place in the initiation to help prevent such events.” I said with a serious tone, one I didn’t often take with her aside from the times she had tried her hand at seduction to no avail. 

“This was my night Arno, I earned this.” She said to me just as serious, but I felt the concern in her be overridden by a primal sense of rage. She had trained for years for this moment, and here I was taking her place.

I understood her rage only too well. 

“It’s not like I’m really joining, it’s merely a facade to remain at his side. I hold no great joy to this all, but I will do what I can to save our father’s life.” I said to her fiercely as I held her in my embrace, feeling her form trembling against me. 

I swear I felt tears fall onto my coat then, and I could do no better than hold her in comfort. 

“Why couldn’t things have stayed simple…? I miss our old days.” Élise said in a whisper as I remembered the times we had shared together. From lazy nights in Paris, to shared frustrations as our schooling overwhelmed us, but I knew now why she had been so engulfed in historical studies, she was being groomed for the Order.

“Because there will always be those that feel they’ve been slighted. Our father’s advisers seem to be at fault, Sivert being the only one we’re sure of, but I don’t doubt there are others. This is an inside job.” I said to her in turn, which made her look briskly at me. 

“What of the Assassins? Wouldn’t this make more sense on their part than this… conspiracy?” 

I shook my head, recalling my memories of meeting the Assassin Mentor and what I had been drilled on in the earlier hours. 

“No, they seem to be holding to the Truce, but I can only assume that there are those in the Order less than pleased with it. If I had to guess, they want the war to resume.” I said to her in speculation as she seemed to think on my words as we spun through yet another song, the band looking anxious as they played.

“When did you get so wise brother?” 

“When I found myself walking in the shadows to protect the light, as usual.” She laughed then, much to my confusion as I met her eyes.

“It is funny, comte de Mirabeau said something similar when I spoke to him earlier today. About working in the dark to serve the light. You remind me of him in a lot of ways Arno.” She told me warmly, as my mind trailed back to the Assassin in black, and how kind he had been, despite all the signs that I would be following my adoptive father’s path, rather than that of Arno’s birth.

“I don’t know him well enough to gauge that, but I thank you.” I said to her as she leaned ever closer to me, but I merely looked aside as I saw François push through the crowds, Lafrenière loyally at his side, the two focusing in on us.

“Arno, Élise, it is time my children.” He said to us sternly as we parted to follow in his steps, the two senior Templars leading us from the well lit dance hall, and into the halls of the estate.

François pulled his daughter aside, likely to ask her about her feelings on the matter, and to ensure she held no contempt, whereas Lafrenière turned his curious eyes to me.

“Hmm… young Dorian, I was not aware you were to be brought into the fold.” Chrétien Lafrenière said to me with skepticism in his tone, his curiosity clear to see as he and I walked side to side and left the two to their own conversation.

“I have trained for this night for many years Monsieur Lafrenière, so my training may finally mean something.” I said to him in turn, as I pulled his letter from my waistcoat, his eyes lighting up as he recognized his own signature, a nod being his response. 

“Glad to have you among our ranks Arno.” He said with a mixed tone as we fell into silence and into step with our companions, François turning his eyes once to us as we rejoined them.

“It is time.”

* * *

“A grand welcome to all of our esteemed Order, on this night of many revelations.” François said to the hordes of Templars around us, his form still and serious on the stage as Élise and I sat with the crowd, the two of us seated among a great congregation of the Cross as François led us all onto the topic of the night, pleasantries having already been spread around.

“Tonight, after much time and affairs, we welcome a new age of our Order, and new siblings to our flock that will help lead us into that age of wisdom. My dear daughter, Élise de la Serre, and my son in all but blood, Arno Dorian, will join us in following the paths of old, and pave new ones for the future.” François spoke to the crowd, signalling us to stand. I did as commanded, ending my gesture with a proper bow as Élise curtsied to the applause of our fellows. 

“Now, let us not delay any further.” François gestured to us once more as we stepped onto the stage and came to a kneel before him, our heads downcast.

“Élise, for many years you have trained for this moment, and your time of enlightenment is here, and you will bear the cross and fulfill his will. Do you swear to uphold the principles of our order, and all that for which we stand?”

“I do father.” Élise spoke strongly, her head still bowed as I felt the crowd tense around us, and I saw glimmers of scarlet move through the horde, Sivert watching the proceeding closely. 

“And never to share our secrets, never to divulge the true nature of our work to those that would destroy it?” François asked of her once more, a hand flying to his pocket as he pulled free a bundle of red silk, an item within clear sight. 

“I do.” 

“And to do so from now, until your death, never speaking of the truth, and maintaining the shadows forevermore?” 

“I do.”

“Then I welcome you to the Order, my daughter.” François said to her with pride in his smile as he turned to me, my eyes meeting his in solidarity. 

“And now, my apprentice. Arno Victor Dorian, he who I have raised since youth, you stand before the Order of our fate. Do you swear to uphold the principles of our order, and all that for which we stand?”

“I do father.” I said surely and fiercely as I rested my hands on the pommel on my rapier, my eyes closed once more in devotion. 

“And never to share our secrets, never to divulge the true nature of our work to those that would destroy it?” 

“I do.” 

“And to do so from now, until your death, never speaking of the truth, and maintaining the shadows forevermore?” François asked me his final question as he lifted my chin to meet his gaze, and I felt that same chill drift through my bones.

“I do.”

“Then I welcome you to the Order, my son.” He said to me with warmth as he placed a hand on the both of us, and we stood together before him.

“Then congratulations to you, my children, you are now Templars.” 

We stood then and faced the crowd, Élise pulled an elegant dagger, a crimson cross as it’s pommel, and held it aloft. In short form, I pulled my pistol to salute alongside it as François watched over us both, the crowd cheering politely as a clock chimed somewhere within the estate.

“May the Father of Understanding guide you both.”

* * *

“Grandmaster, a moment if you’d please.” A rough voice asked aloud as I stood beside François, the two of us overseeing the congregation as the ceremony came to an end.

Sivert stood before us then, his eyes shaky as he begged for François’ attention, motioning towards the courtyard, though I noticed the look of contempt that he sent my way.

François and I exchanged a glance and he nodded in return as I gestured ahead.

It was almost time for them to reveal themselves, and we had discussed it beforehand, so I let François go off with the probable traitor, and followed in their wake. 

Avoiding detection was a skill I had honed over time, seemingly by François’ intention considering the tasks he had assigned me over the years, all leading to this moment. 

I noticed that I wasn’t the only one following them however, as that same stranger from before, the Beggar King, was also following them within the shadows, a fierce and furious look on his face.

He was to be the assassin of my father, but I followed my orders. 

With my pistol in hand, I stepped into the courtyard after Roi des Thunes and the two of them, and aimed high.

“Well, what is so important that you had to drag me away?” François asked of Sivert, only to dodge as Sivert threw a punch towards his gut, a return being thrown at Sivert’s face in a jarring motion.

Seeing this, Roi des Thunes surged forward with an object in hand, a weapon no doubt, and the time came to pass.

 **_“STOPZA!”_ ** I called out into the dark and watched in familiar awe as the world drew to a stop, time freezing all around me as the fight slowed to a halt, the Beggar King stopped before his assault.

Stepping forward in a poised manner, I pulled the item from the assassin’s hand, a small pin in the crest of the Order, and took from him his weapons. I did the same with Sivert, before feeling the Magika drain away and life returned to the frozen world. 

With their weapons gone, Roi des Thunes merely stumbled into François in surprise and his assault was halted as I cracked the hilt of my rapier into his skull. 

Sivert, seeing this incredible turn of events, and his plan falling to pieces around me, took off running back into the estate in fear.

“He’s out Arno, after him!” François yelled to me as he began securing the Beggar King as I nodded, running off after the traitor and back into the glitz and lights of the Order’s grace.

To purge it of those that would see it destroyed, as my oath required.

However, rather than their eternal enemies, like many would expect, I save the Order by pruning its flesh. 

I would be the harsh cross.

* * *

I found him in a study, looking out into the night.

In no time at all the party had been closed off, François alerting the guards that there had been an attempt on his life and none were allowed to leave until the crisis was averted.

Sivert seemed to realize his folly then, as I found him there, resigned as he stared into the night with such dread and fury that one would think it had been his life on the line.

“You know Dorian, I thought this was the better course, that this truce was merely weakening us.” Sivert said softly as I drew closer, the door locked behind me as the light of the night streamed forward through the window panes.

Unbidden, Eagle Sight came into view, and my vision was drowned in red as the light glowing on Sivert was overwhelming, an enemy indeed.

“He said that de la Serre was the weak link, a false Grandmaster, that we’d return to honor and glory with his fall and the Assassins would fold, but I see the foolishness in that now.” Sivert said with a harsh laugh as he turned to face me, anger and resentment on his face.

“Who orchestrated this plot fool?” I asked of him as I leveled my pistol with his skull, flicking aside the trigger as I felt the hatred swell from the man so deeply that I felt fury in the very air itself.

“Even if I were to tell you, he would evade you, but I suppose I may be wrong about that as well. I thought de la Serre was weak… but he made you, which means we were mistaken.” Sivert said in a sad one as he dropped his sword to the ground, the clang of metal echoing in the room as fireworks once more fired off outside. 

“You may be more than I expected, but the new Order will prevail. I see now that I am not strong enough to help lead it. Do your worst boy!” Sivert yelled out at me, the outrage in his eyes glowing as he forced himself forward, and I obliged him.

Shooting my arm forward so quickly, I braced my palm against his face as a metallic click rang out in the shadows,

And a hidden blade lodged itself in his throat, the steel tearing straight through his jugular as his eyes filled with shock and horror and scarlet flew through the air, my sight returning once more to normal, just in time to watch a traitor die a traitor's death. 

“I end you with the tool of our enemies, for even they see clearer than you do.” I said to the man coldly as I watched him gasp for air, his body twitching as his life blood bled away onto the Persian rug below him, his eyes begging me for mercy that I wouldn't dare to give. 

“Your plot will fail, your conspirators will pay, and I will cleanse this Order of your corruption.” 

With that, I drew forth Charles Dorian’s rapier, and rested it on Sivert’s chest, the saber raised above his very heart.

Sivert’s eyes locked onto mine, and he nodded at me, either in acknowledgement or fear, I would never now. 

I finished him off just as he meant to do to François.

Quickly and in the dark. 

I will correct this wrong, and I will bring an end to the traitors and their misdeeds.

“Repose en paix.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another update. By the way, Chapter 1 now has a new image embedded. Previously was just a random image of Arno holding a Templar necklace. Now, it has been replaced with the Cover image I made after chapter one had been completed. It was already attached to the fic on FF, but now it is over here as well.  
> Hope you all enjoyed.


	5. Rouge

**Life 8: Aigle Doré**

* * *

**(Versailles, France, May 6th, 1789)**

* * *

“How’re you father?” I asked with concern as I stood beside the man’s bed, the doctor having stepped away as I approached, the room falling quiet aside from us. 

François de la Serre looked as upset as I had ever seen him, having to be bundled away in the medical bed while he was looked over, the staff wanting to be certain no poison or other method was in his system.

There had been an assassination attempt on De la Serre, that news had spread across the court with quick work, and soon all of France knew that the man’s life was in danger.

I had managed to prevent it, disabling the would be assassin, and having killed the traitorous Sivert, but I knew not what had happened after I left.

“I’m well Arno, but don’t let the physician hear you say anything, he believes me as dire as a plaguie.” François said with a huff as he looked off the in doctor’s direction, the man trying his hardest not to appear that he was listening in.

“Glad to hear it father.” I said with a grin before leaning in closer to the man, my eyes still on the doctor’s back as I whispered to him in turn. “What of the other man? This Beggar King? What happened to him?” 

I had wondered about the man, as he had not been there when I returned. I had assumed he had managed to escape, and blamed myself for letting him live. I assumed we could pry him for information.

“Roi des Thunes? He lives, but as soon as you stepped away he was taken to the Bastille. I believe there to be more to this conspiracy Arno.” He said to me with serious eyes before placing a bundle of cloth into my hand, a shape clear to see within the wrappings. 

Taking it carefully, I noticed within a ring and what seemed to be a metal crest, the Assassin symbol clear to see on the front of it. 

“Father, what-” I tried to ask of him, only for him to raise a hand in objection.

“I know we planned your initiation as merely a cover, to prevent the attempt on my life, but I believe you will honor us. This is the ring I wore in my early days as a Templar, I wish you to wear it with pride.” François said with more emotion in his voice than I had ever heard directed to me, and… I honestly had never felt such pride and adoration as he held to me then. 

“I will father.” I said then, and truly meant it as he placed his hand on my arm, his eyes meeting mine once more.

“The other, is an apprentice token. It signifies one as having earned the trust of the Assassin brotherhood. I have come to believe that my assassination was to destroy the fragile truce we hold with the Assassins. I wish you to go to them, work with them to reinforce it, and build something that our enemies could never tear down.” François said with a sternness to his voice that I knew well from my lessons as I looked to the token, feeling an odd pressure on my nose as I looked at it.

Eagle Sight kicked in then without my pulse, and I saw glowing inscriptions on the token, directions to a place of worship apparently. 

“I will not disappoint you father.” I said to him with a strong nod as he returned it, then he looked to a box by the edge of the bed, one very similar to the box that had held the robes I wore to the initiation. 

“A parting gift to you, to aid you in uncovering this conspiracy.” François said to me swiftly as I took the crimson box in hand, taking note of the Assassin crest on the lid. 

Evidently this was not an artifact of ours… 

It appeared to be a thin Hidden Blade, very similar to the one attached to the aged bracer I wore, the one I had taken in defense of my father… but it was very different. There lay a mechanism at the bridge of it I noted as I connected it to my bracer, the device layering itself right over my existing blade. 

Flexing my hand back, I was surprised to see a crossbow like device extending from the bracer, a slot opening in the middle of it, a space similar to a dart apparent. 

“Another gift from our Hooded Friends. Mirabeau was overjoyed to hear you would be assisting them, and sent along a gift of good faith. They call it a Phantom Blade, a silent crossbow at your wrist.” François explained with a shine to his voice, as he and I both seemed to agree that the Assassins had a flair to their devices. 

“I’m afraid that he did not supply ammunition, but I have an ally you could see about that. He is a Templar, but I doubt him to be a traitor. He sees himself as an Alchemist, seeing this war as a pointless distraction to his research.” 

I could only groan. I didn’t get along well with Alchemists, the last I had known being Nic and Albus himself. 

“His name is Denis Molinier, he works from a laboratory beneath Notre-Dame, I trust you will be able to reach him steadily.” François said to me as I finished inspecting the Phantom Blade, watching in interest as it almost seemed to retract with just a thought.

Definitely worth looking into. 

“Oh, and Arno, I would advise following where the token takes you first, I already have received news that our friends wish to meet with you. Olivier should be waiting outside in a carriage, good luck in Paris my son.” François said as I made for the door, a tear clear to see in his eyes though he worked around it. 

“I may not be in contact for some time, as I do not believe this to be the end of their attempts on my life. I will endeavor to contact you when it is safe…” 

I walked back then, holding the man that had raised me in my arms before stepping back once more, my mission clear.

“Arno, take care of your sister.”

“I will father.”

* * *

“Master Arno?” A voice said in the silence, drawing me out the sleep I’d fallen into on the road.

I had been ushered into the carriage in a rush, a change of clothes and a chest full of Livres being my parting gift as I was practically flown to Paris with the speed we had left at.

Along the way I had been planning my moves in the city, every so often scanning over the Apprentice Token before I had fallen asleep at some point.

Now, Olivier was trying to get my attention over something, the evening sky outside still shrouding the world. 

“Yes Olivier?” I asked him from the stagecoach’s inners, barely able to see the majordomo from the slit in the carriage, but the sound of his voice was worrying. 

“Master Arno, there’s a group of young men blocking the city gates.” He said with something akin to a quiver as I motioned him to stop, kicking the coach door as I did, my rapier falling into hand as I did. 

“I’ll deal with the fools.” I said with a smirk as I left behind Olivier and the carriage behind, the sight of a group of men in red met my gaze, a large man holding his hand out towards me in the general gesture for stop.

If my bet was right, this was a toll scam.

“Hold it right there! City’s closed!” The man said to me with a swagger to him that I had only seen in idiots or drunks, perhaps both in this man’s case. His friends held their blades aloft, obviously trying to look intimidating, but coming off more like children dressing up for a party. 

“I have trouble believing that my friend, considering I’m expected in the city in less than an hour.” I said in my most diplomatic manner, stowing my rapier aside as my vision dulled away, Eagle Sight meeting my command.

All crimson, enemies, each and every one of them. 

“I’m afraid that there’s anti-revolutionaries in action in the city sir, perhaps you should go back where you came from.” Another of the men said to me with a chuckle, a pistol being raised to my skull without much gravitas. 

I laughed then, and they just looked at me in confusion then.

“What’s so funny mister royal?” The first man asked me with a hand chuffed to my chest, they only now noticing my fine clothes, the same suit I had worn to the soiree. I hadn’t had the time to change with having to get to Paris.

“The fact you think I could be scared of you.” I said with a chuckle as I stared deeply into his eyes, utilizing a skill that I hadn’t had much practice with lately. Legilimency.

 _“Call off your boys, and then disband your group.”_ I said within his mind, he only nodded along at my words, before I broke the connection.

“We don’t got time for this boys, let em pass.” The man said to the confused gaze of his allies, before wandering off into the city itself. I merely walked off back to the carriage and Olivier, who stared back at the gang in worry.

“How on Earth did you do that Master Arno?” The man asked me as I just laughed, climbing into the back of the carriage with ease and a grin. 

“Diplomacy Olivier, it’s never a dump stat.” 

“What?”

* * *

( **Hotel de Sens, Paris, France,** **May 6th, 1789)**

* * *

“So long for now Master Arno.” Olivier said in goodbye as we finally arrived at my destination, the place I was to call home within the city, the Hotel de Sens, one of the last remains of Medieval Paris within the city.

I was handed a key when I walked in, not a word said to me, but it was obvious what kind of person the concierge was considering the key held a cross at the end of it. 

Being gestured down the hall to the room at the end, I found a series of chambers decorated in reds and silvers, the Templar Cross greeting me as I walked inside, the crest taking prominence on the living room wall. 

Sighing at the nonchalance, I rested my rapier against the armchair, finally resting for a moment as I sat down, my eyes falling closed as I took a breath. 

I hadn’t slept all night, and had been running around since the morning prior. 

I had gotten a bit of rest in the carriage, but an hour’s sleep isn’t too significant when facing over thirty hours on your feet. 

However, I felt that same feeling from before, the feeling of being watched, but this time was different. It didn’t feel like eyes from miles away as it had before, more of eyes directly on my back.

Someone stood on the balcony, watching me. 

With a mutter of Stopza, I stood as time froze around me, grabbing my rapier and tucking it away, I stepped onto the balcony and took in the sight of my stalker.

It was a man around my age, a bit grizzled looking, wearing green robes in an Assassin’s cut, which confused me slightly.

I was meant to work with the Assassins, was meant to find them judging by the directions on the token leading to a church, but then here was one right here… 

As time recovered from it’s halt, I saw the man tense as he noticed I suddenly wasn’t in the chair before I cleared my throat to get his attention. 

“Hmm, you’re a lot more skilled than they gave you credit for, that’s for damned sure…” The man said with a huff as he looked back through the glass doors once more, the chair still as empty as when I had left it.

I just rolled my eyes as I looked more at him, and that axe he carried. I had been led to believe that Assassins were agents of the shadows, silent and fierce… yet, this man looked more at home in a bar fight than on a rooftop.

“I was told to seek your group out, yet you’ve come to me instead.” I asked him in question, also wondering how much the Assassin knew of me. I kept my ring hand out of sight just in case.

“Yeah, you were meant to go to a church and do a bunch of stupid shit, but I figured it’d be more straight forward like this, considering you’re not really joining us?” He asked me with something akin to a wink, and I let loose my breath, realizing he knew my allegiance. 

“Good to know. I’m Arno Dorian, I’ve been sent to assist the Brotherhood to ensure the Truce remains in place.” I said to him politely, offering my hand to his, which he shook with no slight effort. 

The man was stronger than he looked.

“Name’s Axeman.” He said with a smile, not even knowing how confused I was as he looked off into the city. 

“Your name is… Axeman?” 

“Well, not really, but you’re a Templar fresh to the city, you gotta work for that trust Dorian.” He said to me with a barking laugh, and I could only nod in agreement. I hadn’t imagined being trusted much at all by the Assassins, despite the truce, so I guess false names were warranted.

“Fair enough, how may I assist your order?” I asked him pointedly, gesturing for him to follow me into my chambers, his eyes looking around in slight awe. He seemed more down to Earth than those that would be accustomed to such finery. 

“Mentor said you’d be willing to work, is why we got you these.” He said with a chuckle as he placed a bundle of clothes on my dining table, a pointed hood clear to see from the top of it.

An Assassin’s garb, done all in black and silvers. 

I merely looked at him in confusion, since I wasn’t joining their group after all. 

“Don’t look at me like that, we’re going on a rescue mission.” Axeman said to me as he motioned for me to grab the clothes, which I did with some hesitation. 

“And why do I need to dress like one of your brothers for a rescue mission?” I asked him as I stepped behind one of the veil covers in the room, looking over the assassin’s uniform, appreciating it’s cut and style. It could be far worse. 

“Because our target is one of the Masters, and he’s not that friendly to Templars. He got himself thrown in to go looking for some stuff, and now he’s needed back home.” Axeman said as I changed, only to hear the shattering of glass inside the chambers.

If I had to guess, it was the vase by the door.

“Sorry about that.” 

Yeah, bet he wasn’t. 

With quick work I had gotten the coat and belts on, keeping the Hidden Blade gauntlet I had, considering it was already an Assassin’s blade. 

Stepping out from cover, I saw the man sitting on my couch, but he did give me a look over as I came forward.

“Ah, wonderful. I don’t want to stab you now.” He said with a large grin as I knocked his feet off my table, his face quickly merging to a frown.

“Let me guess, your man’s at the Bastille?” I asked him as I sheathed my rapier in my new belt, the fit quite comfortable and a better hold for my blade than the old one had been.

“Unless you know another prison around here.” 

This… this could work out. Roi des Thunes was at the Bastille, and I was already planning on breaking in to interrogate and kill him, and now I had a legitimate reason to get in. 

“Are we going to get going then? It’s not a short walk after all.” I said to him, having remembered the distance from the last time I had been to Paris, even if it had been as a child. 

Axeman merely huffed as he stood, grabbing his axe as he stepped back onto the balcony and gestured me to follow, which I did with a sigh. 

The man grabbed hold of a window pane and launched himself onto the roof of the hotel, his climbing pace fast and precise. 

“Race ya to the Bastille!” 

Assassins are all children, of that I was sure. 

But so was I.

“Now if I get there first!”

* * *

We stood atop a roof, the building almost next to the Bastille itself, giving us a fair view of the prison and it’s towers. 

I had lost the race, as while I had grown used to free running in this life, I wasn’t used to running and jumping across rooftops, but I had kept pace with Axeman at least.

“How’re we doing this then?” I asked him as we stood there, him lazing against the hilt of his axe, the head of it holding him in place as he looked around like a casual tourist. 

“Well, since it’s midday and this is the Bastille, it’s bound to be crawling with guards and Extremists, so I was thinking I go down and kill a bunch of them to grab their attention, while you climb up to the roof and sneak in.” He said with a casual tone, giving his axe a wave as he heaved it onto his shoulder. 

However, I wasn’t aware of that term.

“Extremists?” 

“Ah, not aware of them? They’re the fucks in red screaming about anti-revolutionaries.” He said to me with a side glance as he spoke. “They’re mostly thugs, but surprised you don’t know them, considering the Mentor said yours were running the gang.” 

That was a surprise to me, but I guess the Templars were wide and varied enough that there was probably someone in the Order that thought it was smart to put together a gang of well armed and violent fools.

“I wasn’t aware, but I may be doing something about them.” I swore to him then, and he only smiled at me in turn.

“Always appreciate the help, but don’t go stealing my kills boy.” Axeman said with a steely glare then, before jumping clean off the building and rolling onto the ground, his axe flying into his hands as he melted into the crowds of upset civilians. 

_“I guess that’s my call to move…”_

* * *

“I CAN NEVER DIE!” Axeman screamed out as more and more guards rushed forward to try and combat him to no avail, heads going flying as the crowd around him cheered him one, the screams and cheers growing with each guard that lay at his feet.

“I AM GOD!”

* * *

It wasn’t that hard to scale the prison, considering almost every guard had come running out to confront the axe wielding madman at the helm, and it left the rooftop devoid of guard leaving me to easily ease my way into the prison, making use of the shadows to avoid those few guards that remained to watch their charges.

However, they were no trouble for me as I merely moved around them in the dark, moving like the Assassin I was to play as. 

However, it was very strange, as despite the thundering noise the crowds outside made, the prison itself was near silent, not a single prisoner screaming in rage or indignation. 

This oddity was forgotten however as I made my way from room to room, looking scanning each and every cell with Eagle Sight in search of the Master Assassin, assuming he’d be golden for a target, or perhaps even azure for an ally.

However, Axeman had said his man wasn’t a fan of Templars, which made me think even further that this Assassin wasn’t to be a friend of mine, though Axeman wasn’t half bad himself. 

The race had even been sort of fun, thinking about it now.

As well, I kept an eye out for Roi des Thunes, thinking I’d find him blazing red and screaming about revenge, yet I heard nothing as I went from hall to hall, cell to cell.

And yet, the two were not in a single cell, until I came to a large cell that was made to hold several prisoners, only to see the door wide open, and a pair of guards dead on the floor, their swords missing along with their keys. 

Looking over the cell with the sight, I found glowing footsteps leading off out of a land bearing window, but that wasn’t the most peculiar thing.

There were scribbles and drawings on the wall of the cell, glowing inside my Eagle Sight like nothing else I had seen, however I couldn’t understand what the writing spoke of, having never seen a language like this before. Ancient, yet otherworldly. 

Was this what the Master Assassin had come looking for? The ‘thing’ that Axeman had mentioned? These odd glyphs that only someone with an Assassin’s eyes could see? 

Regardless, I swore to myself as I stepped out of the cell, taking a breath to myself as I realized that the Beggar King was free once more.

And he knew who I was…

* * *

“There you are!” Axeman called out as I ran into him on the way to the roof, though I was surprised to see him. Last I had seen him, he was surrounded by hordes of guards that lusted for his blood. “Where’s the Assassin?” He asked me then as he and I made our way to the roof, only for the entire prison to shake in place, screams and cries echoing out in open air.

“What the hell’s going on?” Axeman asked me as the two of us ran the rest of the way up, being cautious not to trip whenever the building would shake with some wild impact.

It was as we emerged into the night, and I saw the fires raging and cannons blasting away at the prison, that I realized what was going on… when this was.

I was in the middle of the Storming of the Bastille, and that fire was coming even closer to us and our very flammable flesh. 

Pulling Axeman out of his stupor, the two of us began running along the roof of the prison, jumping to avoid the crumbling of the prison as cannon blast after another tore the prison apart.

However, we had come to the edge of the building, the roof falling apart below us as we overlooked the edge and the fall long below in the darkness. 

“Welp, hope you’re as good at falling as you are at sneaking.” Axeman said with a grin as he took a step back, and then ran clean off the edge of the building, his body going sailing down into the air.

I couldn’t see where he had ended up, but the flames licked every closer to me as I found myself surrounded, and with no choice. Putting aside the thoughts that my new found ally could be flattened on the ground far below, I took a breath.

And took a leap of faith.

* * *

“Huh, what’s going on?” Darcy asked aloud as she looked around herself, the lights in the lab being blinding as she found herself unhooked from the Helix and Animus, only to see Kilkerman looking carefully at a scene of Arno’s memories, of when he stopped the murder of his adopted father. 

“Animus is getting to you. We’re keeping track of your brain waves while you’re plugged in, and we’ve seen the bad that happens when someone’s in too long. Go take a break, maybe get some rest. We’ll get the next few memories ready while you do, the last thing we need is you Bleeding.” Kilkerman said with a wave as Darcy just nodded, only now feeling the hunger gnawing at her and accepted the break given to her. 

However, with the Analyst gone, Kilkerman turned back to a side monitor, the moving image of Otso Berg on the screen, a puzzled look on his face as the two of them both watched Arno Dorian save his father. 

“Kilkerman.” 

“Yes?” 

“Look into whatever the hell Stopza means.” Otso said with a stern look as the image cut out, and David Kilkerman was left alone with a mystery beyond his understanding. 

Arno Dorian had seemingly stopped time… more than once, along with more and more oddities that made him even more fitting of research. 

What the hell was he made of?

Abstergo wouldn’t rest until they knew the truth.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wasn't aware that Arno spent a month in the Bastille in the game, so this ends up happening much soon, and thus the Storming of the Bastille isn't historically accurate.  
> Let's call that a Butterfly Effect.   
> -Oscar


	6. Douleur

**Life 8: Aigle Doré**

* * *

**(Paris, France, May 7th, 1789)**

* * *

Pain.

The universal sign that I was still alive, that I wouldn’t get the pleasure of moving onto the next life and the next world.

Instead, I was lying in a ditch by the Bastille, the waters from the storm the night before draining away as I let the water move me further and further away from the infamous prison.

I was still puzzled though, as the storming of the Bastille wasn’t to happen yet. Perhaps I had advanced the timeline of the Revolution, encouraging them to fight fiercer than they had before, to not hesitate… 

Regardless of the change in schedule, I wasn’t in the mood to waste time, grabbing ahold of the wall beside me, the water passing me by. 

I pulled myself out of the water, a bit of land and debris lying before me as I took in the ruined remains of several carriages, garbage all around me. It was only then that I realized my belt had torn somehow, my rapier lost to the storm. I felt a deep pain at it’s loss, as it had been in the Dorian family for generations, but I was a bit disconnected as I wasn’t truly a Dorian. 

Feeling lost without a weapon, I began to search the rubble, finding a fine club, spikes pushed through the sides to make something akin to a spiked bat. 

Ignoring the waste on my robes and with a new weapon on my back, I began climbing up the walls of the ditch, the sun blazing down on me as I reached street level, the people around me staring in disgust. 

I just growled as I climbed onto the nearest roof as I collapsed onto the tiled roof.

I debated my survival then, before coming to the conclusion that I had fallen into the ravine around the prison, the water breaking my fall, but not well enough.

I had broken at least one rib, my chest a mass of pain as it hurt every time I took a breath, the sun shining down on my pathetic form.

“You look like a drowned rat.” 

Of course Axeman survived… 

I turned to him then, seeing he looked no worse for wear as he sat beside me then, his axe coming to sit beside him then as we looked over the skyline of Paris.

“What happened to you?” I asked him then, curious why I was left with wounds while he looked perfectly fine having survived an impossible fall. 

“Fell into a carriage of hay, broke my fall.” Axeman said in response, my confusion clear to see.

That was literally impossible.

“That’s crazy.”

“I know right?” Axeman said then, his back falling to rest beside me, the sun lazily resting on us as I felt the pain in my ribs recede for a bit, which totally wasn’t caused by a whisper of Curaga… “The club’s new.” 

I just nodded at Axeman’s observation as I felt the heavy presence on my back. 

“Lost my rapier in the storm.” 

Axeman nodded then, before looking over me again.

“Least you still have the pistol.”

He made a good point actually, I actually would have been sad at losing it, considering it was my Interim gift, and was much more precise than many of the guns I had fired, even counting modern pistols. 

“So Cross, wanna help me with another mission?” Axeman asked me then, my face falling into a grimace at his need to give me a nickname, but I couldn’t exactly lay on a roof all day.

“Is this one going to be pointless and end with me falling and breaking my ribs?” I asked then as Axeman looked at me in confusion, my gaze piercing. 

“What do you mean pointless?”

“Your assassin wasn’t there, and neither was Roi des Thunes.” I said with a snarl, that rat escaping me once again.

_I should have fucking killed him when I had the chance…_

“I will admit, I don’t know where Bellic could have gone, but I know someone that could find the Beggar King.” Axeman said then to my interest as I looked once more at him, but he smiled.

There was a catch of course.

“But you’d have to help me rescue him.”

“Of course…”

* * *

“So, you told me literally nothing about the last Assassin you sent me to rescue, who is it this time?” I asked as Axeman and I sat atop a home overlooking a garden estate, Extremists patrolling around the property very obviously. 

It was clear to see that they were guarding something, or rather, someone… 

Axeman looked at me then, clearly trying to tell if he could trust me, and I just raised an eyebrow at him in response.

“Alright… I don’t know his actual name, but everyone calls him Rook. He’s been in the Brotherhood for decades, so he’ll be the oldest Assassin you’ll probably ever see. He’s in Recon, and he knows this city better than even the Beggar King himself, and he’s probably the only man that could find him.”

I nodded then, looking to Axeman then as I finished scanning the property with Eagle Sight, having seen a golden figure below ground.

“How do you want to handle this?” I asked him then, as he grinned back at me in return.

“I don’t often go quietly, but for once I’ll take a spin.” He said as he pulled free something akin to a towel from without his coat, the shape clear to see.

“I’ll sneak in, while you distract them with this.” 

It was the Dorian Rapier, albeit filthy as I took it from him, the weight familiar to the touch. 

“Thank you Axeman.” 

“It’s a show of good faith, so get to distracting them.” He said then, taking off into a run, his feet almost flying as he shot into the trees, going ever closer to the estate as I dropped to the ground.

With rapier in hand, I approached the front gate, a crowd of Extremists blocking my way.

“Excuse me gentlemen, but I believe you’ve got a friend of mine.” I said in greeting, watching a rage overtake the men in red.

“Oh really?” The lead man, clearly an officer of sort of bastardization said as he stepped closer, his own blade sliding free of it’s holster. 

“Get him boys.” He said to them, the men closest to him pulling pistols on me as I knew when to escape, taking off running down the street as they began to chase me. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing Axeman…”

* * *

It was simple work for Axeman to enter the estate, the trees providing a hidden footpath as he walked above the guards unseen.

However, he did notice a horde of Extremists rushing to the front of the estate, clearly to assist the ones that he’d sent Arno after. 

_Cross is doing his job._ He thought as he noticed what seemed to be a cellar leading down below, a group of men patrolling the small courtyard it rested in. 

Seeing that they wouldn’t be leaving, his pulled his axe free as he jumped to the roof of the estate, his eyes focusing on the man farthest from rest.

Jumping free into the air, he brought the axe down onto the man’s head, splitting it clean in half as blood flew through the air, a grin on Axeman’s face as he heard the skull shatter.

The Extremists at the cellar practically fell backwards then, shock and fear on their faces at his sudden appearance, their blades flying into their hands as they approached the Assassin.

“Well lads, come and get some.” He said then, a poor fool approached as Axeman wasted no time sinking the axe into another asshole. 

_Wonder how Arno’s doing…_

__

* * *

The last of the Extremists fell before me, the blood from his heart flowing free as I flicked my rapier through the air to clear the blade of excess, the scarlet flying free. 

The dead man’s buddies rested not far from the alleyway I’d led them into, the rooftop providing cover as they had ran right in as I dropped down, my armed form blocking their escape. 

Of course, they tried to shoot me, as almost everyone did. 

These goons weren’t very unique in their tactics as one had attempted to tackle me, only to get up getting shot by one of his friends. 

Now though, with the Extremists I had dragged away dead and certainly not causing any more issues, I began to make my way back to the estate, hoping that Axeman had done his own job. 

Though, the stream of goons out of the front of the Estate, nearly tripping over themselves to escape, kinda said a lot about Axeman’s performance. 

Sheathing my rapier aside and walking around the estate’s gardens, Axeman clear to see from a little courtyard, lazing against his axe as before.

“I assume all’s well.” I said as he turned to me then, a smile on his face as he seemingly was ignorant at the fact he was almost drenched in blood. 

So he didn’t stick with stealth then… 

“Oh yes, and I found this cellar. Rook should be inside.” Axeman said with a nod as I came closer, my nerves steeling as I looked down into the darkness below. 

“Well, after you Cross.” Axeman said with a grin as I only slapped his shoulder in return as I went first, my eyes adjusting to the dark well as I instead switched to Eagle Sight, the walls glowing in a light blue as I navigated the maze-like pathways beneath the estate, that golden silhouette drawing closer and closer, Axeman following right behind me. 

“Why do they want you old man? Your friends are chopping my men up, so why’re you so important?” A gruff voice asked aloud, the light of a room in the distance as I dropped to a crouch, Axeman following suit as we snuck forward.

There was Rook within, an almost broken old man in Assassin robes was tied to a chair, his robes speckled with blood that drifted from his lips. As well, his leg twisted unnaturally, it had to be broken. 

Before him was a man with an Officer’s saber drawn, but he wasn’t an Extremist, instead of scarlet clothes, he wore a Captain’s uniform, the seal of the French Guard clear to see on his sleeve.

I was confused then, but drew my pistol… only to freeze.

There, on the man’s saber, was a crimson cross, exactly like the one on my pistol… 

This man was a Templar… and he was violating the truce… 

My will steeled, I fired.

* * *

The world stilled then, the air solid and coarse around me as I found myself in another realm, the other Templar lying at my feet, yet he also stood before me, filled with rage and indignation. 

“You ignorant child! I was so close! He knows the location of their headquarters! We could end this war!” The man screamed at me then, obviously seeing through the disguise Axeman had given me, but I took it in stride. 

“The Grandmaster decreed there to be a truce. The war is already over.” I said to him then, still wondering how this was possible. The man was bleeding out by my feet, and yet he stood there, as full of life as ever. 

“The Grandmaster… De la Serre is no master of mine! He turned me away like so many others, the Order is weak with him in control! Did you expect no one to turn against him? The Order must be purged! The war will never end!” The man screamed at me, the rage practically glowing in his eyes as he grabbed me by the lapels, only for his form to begin to fade before my eyes, the mysterious realm bleeding away from my sight.

“You’ll see it… in time.” The traitorous Templar said as all fell away, and I was once more in the tunnels, the man dead at my feet as Axeman worked to free his fellow Assassin. 

"Repose en paix." I muttered as Axeman looked at me then in confusion, suddenly frozen in place. 

“You say something Cross?”

The old Assassin had fallen unconscious once we had freed him, Axeman having to carry him as we left the tunnels, my mind lost in thought as we walked. 

I was confused, how could I carry a conversation with a man that was already halfway dead? 

I knew his name though, it swam in my mind like so many other things. 

Frédéric Rouille, a cruel man that tortured for a living and had somehow gained a captainship with the French Army, until now.

It was clear he had become a Templar, but not under François’ command, instead under another.

He refused to call François Grandmaster… did that mean another had taken the title? Was there an entire sect of the Order that was full of traitors? 

How far did this web go? 

Would I be hunting them for the rest of this life?

I couldn’t keep worrying like this however, it would drive me mad. 

“Axeman.” I said to him, drawing his attention as we emerged into daylight, Rook still out of it as he was carried forward. “Do you have things from here?” 

Axeman seemed a bit surprised, but he nodded in return.

“You have someplace to be Cross?” He asked me as I once again noticed the state of the Assassin robes I wore, the smell starting to annoy me.

“First to change into something sensible, then I have someone to meet.” I said with as little knowledge offered, as I knew Axeman wasn’t telling me everything either, so I would do the same. 

“Alright Cross, stay safe.” Axeman said in parting as he led Rook further down the street and around a corner, and I closed my eyes in annoyance.

First, clothes.

Second… I have to break into Notre Dame…

* * *

It had been surprisingly trivial to get inside of the cathedral with a fresh set of clothes, my coat cutting a dark figure as I walked through the legendary building, taking note of the dark coated figures guarding an aged wooden door. Taking diplomacy in mind, I approached them, sure that I was that they were of the Order. 

I was right on the mark, their leader almost snarling as I stepped closer, his hand held aloft.

“Interims are not to proceed, Grandmaster’s orders.” The man said with a smugness that I didn’t believe possible, but regardless I didn’t care.

I knew that my father hadn’t given this order, considering that he had sent me to seek Molinier himself, so this was an act from that shadowy figure I had discovered was acting against us.

With a smile, I simply met the eyes of the Templar officer, and invaded his mind.

Granted, he knew very little, only that there was in fact a man going around calling himself the New Grandmaster, and he was on a recruiting drive for new blood in the Order.

He was practically diluting the Order with these fools.

Wasting no time at all, I crushed the aggression in his mind and implanted the desire to let me pass, and he did just that.

“Thank you gentlemen.” I said with a grin as the Officer let me pass, his fellows confused but not willing to argue.

“Could someone close that damn door?! This is delicate work, and the last thing I need is some ruffian interrupting me…” An annoyed voice called out as I stepped forward, the door closing behind me as I walked in.

I was in some form of laboratory, fumes wafting up from what appeared to be cauldrons, and… was that the scent of potions? 

I couldn’t believe it then, actual cauldrons brewing away in a dungeon. How nostalgic. 

“I’m afraid I am a ruffian, but I have need of your help monsieur Molinier.” I said in an even tone as I approached, my hands held up as the finely dressed alchemist took notice of me, jumping at the sudden noise.

“Damn it, I said I was not to be interrupted, I will never replicate it at this rate!” Denis Molinier said with rage as he pointed a finger at me, and I felt much like a child caught in the act. 

However, I smelled something… familiar in the air. 

“Is that Philosophic Mercury?” I asked him then, stepping around the man as I took notice of what he was melting in his cauldron. I had believed it merely to be a Muggle variation of a potion, but no, it was much more complicated than that.

“You’re making a Philosopher's Stone.” I said to him, his face paling as he realized he was truly caught. However, I held no anger or judgement for him. After all, I had built my own after some time. I had always loved a challenge.

“You didn’t tell me you were an alchemist…” Denis muttered aloud as I looked over the journal on his desk, as I recognized the writing, much to my chagrin.

This was one of Nicholas Flamel’s journals, and a useless one at that. The fact that Denis had gotten this far from Nic’s favorite foods was astonishing in itself.

“I dabble in alchemy.” I said then as I took a quill and parchment off the man’s crowded workbench as I wrote out the instructions for properly handling the Mercury, and how to store it safely. The last thing we needed was for the only scientist in the city to die horribly. 

He just looked at me in surprise and awe then, his eyes practically bulging when I handed him the sheet.

“How did you know?” He asked me then in surprise as I merely smiled in return.

“Keep it a secret, you’re the genius after all.” I whispered aloud, and he just nodded in response, but I drew his attention once more.

“Now then, my father said you were an inventor.” 

“I dabble in inventing.” He said with a joking tone as I felt that was fair, but regardless he looked at me then. “Did you need something?” 

I just lifted my gauntlet then, the Phantom Blade easily sliding off as I held it towards the man who delicately took it in hand. 

“This is a device I was given, a handheld crossbow. I wasn’t given ammunition for it however. I ask that you take it and devise applications for it.” I asked him as he gazed at it in interest, holding it aloft as he inspected the compartment and inner workings on it.

“It’s an ingenious design, I’ll say that.” He said to me in turn, before giving me a sly look. “However, my research takes up much of my time… unless I was to have help.” 

I figured he’d ask something like that, and I just nodded at him, smiling at how excited he had become so swiftly. 

“I’ll be back for it later, I expect a working model by the time I return. Impress me and you’ll have your help Molinier.” 

And with that, I had recruited an Alchemist…

* * *

I kept it to myself, but when I killed Rouille, I heard voices.

They weren’t like any I had heard, ethereal and so distant that they felt like nothing more than echoes, but I knew them to be more than that.

They held a purpose, and a… nervousness to them. 

As I lay in the hotel room, my pistol beneath my pillow, I thought about all the strange things I had seen thus far, and one thing kept coming back to my mind.

When I stood in that other realm, Rouille screaming at me, I had heard those voices.

I didn’t know what they were saying, but I had managed to understand one thing.

A single word, a name.

“Who are you… Darcy?” 

**✠**


	7. Brotherhood

“Captain Kenway. Ever a splinter in my side. Does this murder fulfill you?”

There lie an old man, beaten and ruined by a pursuit of power and control, now bleeding his soul out onto the stone and rubble as his plans fell onto him like a harsh tide.

The other man, his slayer in not merely mortality, but of virtue as well, stalked only closer with a look of hatred and perhaps a hint of sympathy in his eyes, though one that he would never admit to.

Despite his wish to put an end to the treacherous villain, Edward did not wish to watch an old man die in agony.

“I'm only seeing a job done, Torres. As you'd have done with me.” Edward said then with a strength he had searched long for, his eyes hard and tense as Torres realized that this was only fair. He would have shown Kenway no such mercy as a philosophical death, nor give him the time to defend his actions, not as Edward now gave to him.

However, Torres was a vain and stubborn man, not willing to abandon his beliefs for even a moment and admit defeat, for he only believed himself to have won in a way.

“As we have done, I think. You have no family anymore, no friends, no future. Your losses are far greater than ours.” Torres said with a sharp grin then, the pleasure in his words only defeated by the blood soaking his teeth and the scarlet staining his hands as he fought to stay alive.

“That may be. But killing you rights a far greater wrong than ever I did.” Edward said in turn and left no ground for convincing him, for he had listened to far wiser scoundrels in the past and decided he liked his own course far more than those provided for him. 

“You honestly believe that?” Torres asked of his killer then, interest in his voice as he made one last attempt to change the perspective of the pirate, and perhaps to finally understand why their kind opposed them with such venom.

He spoke not of the Pirates, for it was clear that Edward had grown fond of the blades he wore on his wrists. 

“You would see all of mankind corralled into a neatly furnished prison, safe and sober, yet dulled beyond reason and sapped of all spirit. So, aye... with everything I've seen and learned in these last years, I do believe it.” And he did believe it. He had seen and met far stranger things in this life than a man with delusions of grandeur, and knew that he could not allow the Templars the control they fought for so strongly.

He would be the barrier holding them adrift, and Torres could only admire him for his stance, unshaken and undying as the Templar was neither. 

“You wear your convictions well. They suit you…”

* * *

He spit out the blood that had filled his gullet, the ropes binding him cutting into his flesh as his body was thrown once more out of the past, his eyes swollen in pain as he was rightened in his seat.

“Now then Gryphon, tell us again about Standish.” The burly man said to him with a sneer, the man’s knuckles bruised from the destruction he had laid at the prisoner’s feet, his smile sadistic and hungry as the man could only struggle against his binds.

“Standish… was a mad man…” The captured man said once again, Erik Gryphon deciding in his mind that the men before him were pathetic shadows to the ones that had held his foregone brethren, and their interrogation was horribly run at that.

“Yes, the other Helix members said that, but you saw something… Didn’t you?” The second of the men, the one that looked and held himself as wiser, said then with a snarl as Erik felt blood trickle down over his lip, the copper taste holding him here as the world around him began to fade away.

He knew what the man asked about, the vision of Standish over him, the ghost of a woman, one that had tried to strip the spirit from his bones and wear him as a suit of flesh to destroy humanity.

_‘I can feel you Cipher’_

“I saw the Templar Order… and their evil.” Erik bit back at the men then, his eyes beginning to blur as he was no longer alone with the men, but instead they stood in a dungeon.

Neither of the Templars even noticed it, and Erik knew that he had begun to fade, but he still held long enough for the stronger man to strike him a last time.

He fell backwards and his eyes fell shut.

* * *

“Figlio di puttana!” An older man cried out in anger as a fist was bloodied against his face, the ropes tying him fast cutting at him as the wooden post he stood against did nothing to hold his frame up. 

Unlike the man that held such a connection to him, this man was not beaten and held by men of the Cross.

He was held by traitors to his Creed.

“We will ask you again, where is the Library?” He was asked, but he merely laughed at them as he had refused to allow the secrets of Altair to fall into the hands of evil, even if they wore their crest and carried their blades.

He would not allow those that would betray them, access to their founder. He would not let their founder’s bones be paraded in the streets, the Apple used to control all as he failed in protecting those that would suffer.

He refused.

“Oh, you can read? I had no idea.” He said with a shaky laugh, his nose beginning to clot as another kick was laid to his ribs, his smile unburdened as he looked at the men with a personal hatred.

He had trained them, he knew their faces and their families, he had given them the blades that they now perverted with their actions, one of them even resting his Hidden Blade at his throat.

A mentor betrayed by his students, a trend of the Assassins it seemed. 

“Where is Altair’s library?” He was asked once more, and he still refused to tell them that which they sought. 

“I had thought you to be better than this Raguel, but I see that I was mistaken.” His smile fell as he held nothing but contempt for the man, no… boy, before him. He had treated these men like his children, teaching them of their duties to the brotherhood, filling their minds with the creed and all that it meant.

But he supposed it meant far less for them than it ever did for him. 

“You know nothing old fool, even less than you spout.” The other traitor, Varsus Sionios, said with no affection held for the man that had saved them, merely a lust for power and revenge on their brothers.

He knew why they felt betrayed, why they decided to fight against the Brotherhood as they did. He did not agree with them, but he understood them.

“If I know nothing, then why do you come for answers that you will never receive?” The mentor said then with a sharp gaze in his aged eyes, the men now pulling their blades as he made it clear that he would never cave to their desires.

Altair’s secrets would die with him, that he had long decided.

“Requiescat in pace, Ezio.” The younger of the two men said mockingly as his hidden blade now hovered at his former mentor’s throat, the old man’s face falling stoic as he gazed at the two men he had once considered sons.

“After you.” He said with a hint of sorrow as the ropes holding him tight snapped clean, and the Assassin sprung forward at his former pupils. 

With no weapon on his person, he used theirs. His hands flew forward to guide Raguel’s arm away, the man stunned as his own blade now sliced it’s way through his jugular and out the other side.

Ignoring the rain of crimson that now stained him, Ezio swung himself at Varsus, the older of the two meeting his blow as he held the younger man’s blade from his flesh.

“You will pay for all that you have done.” Varsus growled out as Ezio’s hand grasped the traitor’s blade, the younger of the two now struggling to bring down a death blow on his former teacher.

With no reservation left, and everything to lose, Ezio wrapped his spare hand around Varsus’ head, almost in a loving embrace as he held the man he had helped to raise.

And snapped his neck with all the force of a book closing.

“I have already paid far more.”

* * *

Erik took a breath then, the blood on his hands seeping into his flesh as the world came into focus around him.

He was not a Pirate that had brought vengeance on a foul man, he was not a scholar that was betrayed by his mentor, he was not a nobleman that watched his father and brothers be killed by their once allies.

He was a man faced with the mangled and bloody bodies of two Templars, and he was a man that was back.

Shaking off the fugue of the past, he picked up the pistol off of the smaller of the two Templars and walked from the motel, his eyes struggling to adjust to the morning sun.

He had been entrapped in his visions for the entire night, it seemed. Erik wasn’t surprised, as he had often lost himself to the memories of his forebears.

Shaking off the agony of his shattered ribs, and with no fondness for his gnarled and bloody nose, he pulled forth a phone from his pockets. 

Not a fancy one or anything that might be expensive, merely an older phone that served him well enough and allowed him to keep in contact.

With ease he started a call, the bars ringing out as his bruised hand held it to his ear and he struggled to breath without torment.

“Code?” A feminine voice on the other line asked of him, but he had no time for procedure, his eyes bruised and his vision turning red as he smiled at the lovely sound of her voice. 

“I’m alive.” 

And he collapsed forward, the phone flying from his hand as he let himself fall apart once more, a last hope being to not lose himself completely.

* * *

**Life 8: Aigle Doré**

**Chapter II: Brotherhood**

****

* * *

**-Two Days Before the Golden Eagle Project Began**

**(November 22nd, 2014,)**

**(London, England)**

* * *

Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent, for only the blood of the guilty shall stain your soul.

Hide in plain sight, for the shadows of the crowd provide cover that not even the dark of the night can match.

Never compromise the Brotherhood, for one to betray their brothers is to strike at their very soul.

The tenets of an order older than history, and the one that one unfortunate man had found himself thrown into.

Erik Gryphon had never signed up for a secret war between factions older than his ancestry, nor had he expected to find a secret conspiracy led by an ancient entity aiming to destroy Humanity… 

And yet, Erik had in fact done as much, and had managed to get out with his life and managed to buy humanity time as he refused Her. 

Juno, one of the fabled Precursors, had tried to kill him, to take his form for her own. Standish, crazy bastard that he was, had even tried to help her.

But it appears that some form of fate shined upon Erik, for as his mind was broken open by Her power, his presence fell back into the unbroken connection to the Helix. Abstergo policy had said so many times to never remove a person from it without closing down the program, but Standish had done just that. Erik had awoken, but his mind had stayed tethered to the Helix, and as Juno poured her essence into his mind? It enforced that connection, and he was no longer a Research Analyst inside a basement, but an Assassin in a temple. 

_‘You are just a man, frail and mortal’_

He saw into that other man, the last to be used by Abstergo, the man that had given his life to renew the endless war between the Assassins and Templars, he knew his struggles and saw into his mind.

When Juno tried to destroy his connection to Edward Kenway, Standish had unknowingly created a link between him and the Helix, and Erik had fallen into a fail safe of sorts.

One could call it a Black Box of history, and with the influence of Juno’s power on his skin, the Helix had poured forth all it held, and Erik became something more than a mere man.

He became a lexicon of human history, stored within a mortal body, forced to see through the eyes of others whenever his mind slipped. 

He saw all that had become of the struggle over the Isu technology, the lives lost in pursuit of power and the strife caused by human hands playing with toys they were never meant to control.

He saw the greed, cruelty, and lust for power that the Templars held dear.

He chose to be the opposition, and with the memories of countless Assassin's running parallel to his own, took up the Creed and joined the Hidden Ones of the past, the Assassins, the Shadows, and the Chosen. 

Which led him here, to a city that stood as a shatter point of humanity, and one where he had been sent, yet he felt an odd vergence cross his mind.

He held memories of all the Helix system had held, and because it had been built upon the flesh and bone of its predecessor, he knew all the Animus project had foreseen. 

From Aveer, Clay, Desmond, and others that the Templars had doomed, he knew all their faces and their fates.

However, there existed a flutter within his mind, of one of the newer Abstergo projects that had existed within the Helix mainframe.

There had been an Assassin that operated within Paris long ago, one that changed the tides of the war and emerged with one of the most powerful Isu artifacts to ever exist. 

Yet, if that were so, why did Erik now see a string of events in his mind, of a different outcome?

He had seen the memories of Arno Dorian, just as he had seen the memories of his Assassin’s brethren, yet… now the man’s adopted father lived? The Templars began a civil war amongst themselves…?

Erik had been sent to London to begin his next assignment, to steal from Abstergo files on a project of theirs that he knew nothing of, but yet… he felt this ghostly pull leading him back to his safe house and into a call with his superior and a person he had known long before all of this had begun. 

“Chief, 1.5.7.3.4.5.7.2.9.5” He spoke aloud then to the blinking screen, a single image of an eye meeting his gaze as if in waiting, before the screen began to spread into a blazing red.

And that familiar symbol emerged all in white, and he was face to face once more with his handler and childhood friend, Zora Bishop, a senior Assassin for the Brotherhood.

“Zora, a pleasure to see you again.” Erik said with a tired grin as her eyes lit up in confusion at him, yet she kept her composure as he pulled his hood away, his dark hair falling over his eyes with ease.

“Have you managed to find the Frye files, Erik?” She asked of him with confusion then, as he had been directed to only make contact after had succeeded, but he felt the surging heat within him demand that he change his plans. 

His eyes were shadowed by a lack of sleep as he looked at her, his face serious as her eyes recognized his tone. 

“Zora, I’ve discovered an issue.”

“If this is about Pearce, leave it. He may have refused to join the Brotherhood, but we have him on as an operator, we’re keeping an eye on him.” She said dismissively as he just rolled his eyes at her, a hand coming up to scratch at the mess his face had become. Scars and cuts hid themselves in the rough of his stubble, his lips taking the worst of way too many strikes. 

“I don’t care about the Vigilante anymore Bishop, one of the Assassins from the memories… I have seen his life before, have learned lesson after lesson from his memories… yet, they’re changing.” He tried to explain to her then, his mind a scrambled mess that he could barely make sense of on a good day, yet alone one where memories of a long dead man were actively shifting within Erik’ mind.

“That’s impossible.”

“And yet, I no longer have access to the memories of Arno Dorian, and now I have a memory of his that contradicts everything I knew of him.” The man argued back, the images of Arno running across rooftops with his robes flowing in the wind, now replaced by an image of the man with a Templar ring on his finger, an oath of allegiance from the long dead man that the Arno he had seen before would never have said. 

A fault in the Abstergo database, and in his own head.

“Arno Dorian, the French Assassin? That’s impossible.” Bishop said with no small amount of skepticism, but Erik merely fought off her dismissal. 

“He was a loyal brother, yet now I hold memories of his adopted father surviving his assassination… I have seen Arno Dorian sworn into the Templar Order…” Erik shook his head then as the strange look in Arno’s eyes kept coming back to him, the words of his oath rattling in his ears.

“Something weird has happened, Zora, and I ask that you make a request of the Master, let me find out what changed.” Erik begged of her then, the oddity within his mind driving him mad from the confusion and change, a silent part of him demanding to know why the memories he had studied no longer held true.

“We don't have an in on that project Erik, we cou-“

“I hold the first of these new memories, if you hook me into an Animus, I swear that I could find my way into their servers, Zora.” Erik said with a scoff as his friend looked back at him with a new line of thought, her eyes still refusing to believe him.

“Thar’s not possible, the systems don’t-“

“I can do this Zora.” He swore to her, his voice begging to be given this chance, and she fell silent then as she saw that he knew there was more to this.

She took a few moments to ponder over it before her eyes fell shut in acceptance, her patience tested once more by the man before her, but she could never refuse him.

“Let me contact William, I’ll get you access, Erik.”

“It’s all I ask.”

* * *

**(November 24th, 2014, )**

* * *

“Session one-four-four now starting, Erik Gryphon in the seat. Today marks the first attempt to tap into the Helix database via an Animus device.” Rebecca Crane’s voice rang out as Erik settled himself into the seat, the visor over his eyes as she inserted the link into the vein of his arm, the flesh parting as he felt a connection to the Animus settle directly over his link to Helix.

“Following weird shit, Erik will be tapping into the memories of supposed Assassin Arno Dorian during the French Revolution. And weird shit is the best I can call it, I mean I looked into the guy, and everything is just-“ Rebecca rambled on to her recorder, but Bishop just gave her a stern eye as Erik felt the wave wash over him as he felt the familiar fading feeling take over him.

He slowly let himself sink forward as he felt the Animus take hold and the skyline of a Paris before his time began to settle in.

“Erik will observe the life of Dorian to determine whether or not he was truly an Assassin, as-“

And yet, as Rebecca narrated the experience, he heard her no longer as he fully settled into the world around him.

He felt the sun on his skin as he felt himself settle within the mind of Arno Dorian, the figure resting in wait on a rooftop as his eyes adjusted.

However, as Dorian made to jump from the edge, the world began to slow around him, almost like lag on a program.

“Bishop, what the fuck am I looking at?” Erik wondered aloud as the Assassin was frozen in the air, but the he felt something else among the energies flowing through his mind.

A presence, and not that of his allies.

“Who’s there?”

In an instance, he felt himself get pulled from the memory, his connection severed as he found himself awoken in the modern world.

“Erik, what’s wrong?” Rebecca called out as she moved to him, her eyes flying to remove the visor from him as his eyesight shook.

He felt nausea then as he fell to his side, his mind whirling and collapsing around him as he saw an image in his mind, a pair of glowing green eyes and those words.

A French accent, but infused with something so much more as Erik felt that same presence from the Animus within his mind, and he felt… noticed. 

“Who are you?” 

**✠**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I’ve been gone for a while. Made some new stories, dealt with some shit, and now I’ve swung back around.  
> I had the idea of this chapter in my mind for a little while, and I’ve basically set the foundation for this some time ago.  
> Regardless, we have reached the second part of the story, and introduced the third of our protagonists, Erik.  
> Like, Darcy, he was a Research Analyst for Abstergo, but his time at the company ended far differently from hers.  
> I set up previously that both groups would be watching Harno, now you’re seeing the other side.  
> Of course, we will be returning to Harno’s perspective next time, and I’m sorry the chapter wasn’t longer after all of this time away, but I wanted to focus this chapter solely on introducing Erik.  
> Hope you all enjoyed.


	8. Intrigue of Rats

**Life 8: Aigle Doré**

* * *

**(Paris, France, May 11th, 1789)**

* * *

The tunnels held no end to them, I could swear as I clung to the walls, the ground quaking beneath my feet as I struggled forward in the dark. 

“I’ll destroy everything if it means your death!” 

Cries in the distance clung to me as I trudged on with a clenched jaw, my best efforts keeping me walking as I felt another quake echo past me. 

“I SEE YOU! I SEE ALL THAT YOU ARE!"

With that, a blast of golden light was unleashed through the tunnels and I was blasted off my feet into the sludge beneath me. 

I could only hope my ribs made it through the night.

I had a bad track record of personal injuries, and I couldn’t cut short the number of times I had been forced to knit my chest back together, rib by rib. 

The whispering voices in my head didn’t help matters much, and neither did the screaming ones as that damn glow threatened to swallow me whole, the blood on my lips mocking me as I tried to make it to the sewer entrance I knew had been just around the corner… 

Oh yeah, and I was missing an arm, fun stuff. 

“You can not hide from me…” That horrid voice said just behind my shoulder as an all consuming golden glow began to burn away at my very being, that relic held to my chest as I could see the madness in his eyes.

Looking more carcass than man, I stared my attacker in the eyes and took a breath before grinning just as madly as he did.

“Go fuck yourself.”

With that, I surged forward and laid my remaining hand on the relic and began to wrestle it from him, for some measure of hope to see tomorrow.

He wasn’t keen to let me as he slammed it clean into my nose, the cartilage breaking away like sand as I could only stare in horror as the artifact began to glow a dangerous red, and the world around me began to blur.

And everything exploded.

* * *

**(Sixteen Hours Earlier)**

* * *

“Arno Dorian. I must say, I expected much more considering the praise I hear heaped on you so often.” 

Of course a judgmental, but well to do, gentleman has to be the one to awaken me from my drunken stupor. I faintly recalled stumbling into the pub the night before, but not much after.

Considering I was lying in a corner, filthy as sin and reeking of a horrible night, and a-

Great, another pompous Assassin comes to ruin my day… 

“The hell do you all want now?” I grumbled out as the bastard just watched me stand up, a cane held aloft as he watched me with glee.

He had one of those faces that made his age hard to tell, but the mustache reminded me of Vernon a bit as the man sized me up in turn. 

If I didn’t know better, I would assume he had been a member of the King’s court from the finery he wore, his emerald waistcoat well set as a sleek set of almost medieval armor rested under his suit. 

Of course a damn gentleman knight pays me a visit like some fairy tale… 

“I met the Axeman, so who the hell are you supposed to be? Lancelot?” I asked with a scoff as I pulled myself to my feet, no thanks to the sadistic fuck, his cane falling to snap the ground as I tried my best not to smell myself.

“Charming. I know not of you personally, but you may call me the Greencoat, most tend to.” The bastard introduced himself to me as I felt myself down, grimacing as I found myself coming short of my money pouch… Which meant I’d have to do another long distance summoning again… or steal another one, either works.

“Greencoat, Axeman… Can’t any of you bastards just be called Paul? You’re Assassins, not spies. Why all the subterfuge?” I asked of him as a group of men began to laugh at me from the side of the pub, my tired eyes not having any of this sort of crap.

With a slight flex of my left hand, a red capsule was sent flying from my gauntlet’s edge, a mist forming as it cracked against the leg of their table.

“Laugh it up chuckles…” I grumbled as I walked from the pub, Greencoat on my heels as I heard the screech of chairs on hardwood flooring.

“There… two… one…” 

“I’LL KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU BASTARDS!” The largest of the men screeched out as he rushed the bar side, the barkeep having none of that either as he met the charging behemoth with a well placed punch.

If a man can not get horribly drunk in a pub without being mocked for it, he’ll get the patrons to tear the pub apart, board by board.

Or something to that extent.

“You know, I do believe the Mentor didn’t give your father the Phantom Blade so that you could use it to harm civilians…” Greencoat muttered disapprovingly to me as we left the pub in our tracks, the morning sun shining on me to my discomfort as I struggled to keep the pounding in my head down from all consuming agony.

How I wished potions ingredients existed in this world… Pepper Up would be blissful right about now… 

“You Mentor didn’t give up any ammo either, good thing I’ve got friends besides you hooded sadists…” I bit back at the man as he turned me around with the hook of his cane, and I pulled up the hood of my own coat.

Even though I always mocked the Assassins for constantly wearing their hoods, at least they were useful.

“Now then Greenie, not that I don’t appreciate your terrible company, but what do you want now? I thought it was Axeman’s job to babysit me?” I asked of him as I felt an afternoon crowd pass by us, the uncomfortable feeling of eyes on my back as I pulled what remained of my coat closer.

What the hell did I do last night…?

“Axeman’s quite busy, but the Mentor insisted I tag alongside you, there’s news on the Templars that I believe you’d find interesting, Dorian.” Greencoat said in turn as I narrowed my eyes, wondering what else had been happening under my father’s watch, and what else the traitors had been up to besides recruiting idiots.

“The new Grandmaster?” 

“Afraid nothing on that end, but we have a lead on one of their recruiters, one I believe you know quite well.” Greencoat said with a sharp grin as he leaned closer to me amongst the bustle of the crowd, his eyes holding a murderous glee that sent a chill down my spine.

“How would you like for us to go and kill us a rat?” He asked with a chuckle as my vision almost turned red at the thought, as I knew what he eluded to and my hidden blade made itself known with barely a thought. 

“Roi des Thunes…” I growled out as I thought of the one man that had escaped me, and resolved myself to fixing the total.

Yet another rat would die to my hands, as I was sick of rats running away from duly deserved punishment.

“Indeed. I originally imagined he had escaped the country, but the man was never as smart as his underlings always claimed. He lies in his kingdom of filth below Paris, and you and I shall put an end to his reign.” Greencoat explained with all of the grace of a duke as he gestured down the street and I tore my ragged coat away.

With a bit of unnoticeable transfiguration, I now had a torn cloak to wrap around me as we took off towards the criminal underground.

And that little bit of me that sang at the thought of crime and villainy?

He was enjoying himself way too much to care.

“Lead the way Greenie.”

* * *

Before us stood a vast bizarre of stands and unwashed masses, the unofficial black market of Paris making itself known as my newest ally and I stood roofside, examining the masses and secrets it held within.

“The Kingdom of Beggars… Each and every soul down there reports all they see and hear to their king, and everybody is a scout… I do believe it will require more than a steady hand and a firm axe for this mission Dorian, care to prove your worth?” Greencoat asked of me with a smirk then that I really wanted to slice off his face, but alas, I was here to save a peace involving these annoying bastards, not to reignite a war with them. 

“I can make my way there easily, I’m assuming that I’ll meet you there Greenie?” I asked of him with a quirked brow, the foremost of my cloak hiding my face from sight as the tail of my makeshift covering fluttered in the harsh wind.

“Afraid not my unkempt friend. While you come here for the Rat’s head, I come for an artifact in his possession. If all goes well, we shall not even cross paths.” And with that, Greencoat lazily fell forward from the rooftop as I watched in intrigue… and then jealousy as a zip line of sorts came flying upwards and the man swept off into the huddled crowds, a well dressed man somehow melting away into a horde of vagrants.

_Note to self, commission Denis to make a grappling hook…_

With a huff to myself about over dramatic Assassins, I followed him off the edge and into the rat’s nest.

* * *

Cour Des Miracles, the den of rats and those and things that they hide within their holes.

A marketplace of sorts, hiding within a series of tunnels that would give the great Greek Labyrinth a run for it’s money, and filled to the brim with guards and lookouts that would give me away in a second… 

With that in mind, it was trivial to silently cast a Notice-Me-Not onto my cloak as I set forth in the crowds, the dark of the night falling behind me as fires lit the darkness alight.

With a look of disgust, I marveled as a group of men seemed to be holding a man tight, a saw in progress of cleaving his foot clean off his frame as he screamed for his mother, for God, for anything or one that would save him.

I was tempted to do just that, I would admit.

If not for the interference of my latest hooded friend.

“I wouldn’t do that Dorian.” He whispered to me as we stood back to back, my eyes on the scarlet falling from the beggar’s leg, his howls almost like an animal’s as they sawed back and forth through his stubborn bones.

“What? Are you really telling me to not stop them from maiming a man for life? I thought I was the bad guy here?!” I growled under my breath as Greencoat met my gaze with a steely smile, and I knew that he was not one of the Paragons of his Brotherhood.

I realized that day that there was a lot more grey to this war of morality than simply Assassins and Templars.

“You could run in there, blade waving around like Axeman would, kick up the nest and tell the Rat King that you’re coming for him… or you could merely ignore their offenses, and follow them to their burrows unseen?” He proposed with a grin as he wearily pointed his cane away from the poor soul, his focus on a wiry man with glasses much like I once wore, but with an expression of cruelty and sadistic glee that I had never adorned. 

“Aloys La Touche, the favorite mouse of our Beggar King. He works as an enforcer and torturer for our fair lord, and one of the few that would know every twist in those tunnels. I propose we allow him to conduct his business, then follow him back to his lord and master. What do you say, Dorian?” Greencoat asked of me then with a smug smirk, and I could only grimace as it was indeed a good plan, and one likely to work too.

After way too many plans that went to the wayside, I expect them to at this point, but his may actually have merit to it.

“So, we follow the sick bastard, then I get to stop looking at your smarmy face?” I asked halfheartedly, as I knew I would see him again after this. The Assassins were way too skilled, and took too much joy in invading my privacy to stop now. 

“So I swear.” Greencoat said with a smile as he held his cane aloft like a salute, but I just brushed him aside as I merged with the crowds once more, my eyes firmly on La Touche as I did. 

“Like your word means literally anything to me.”

“Someone has trust issues…” The man bit back in turn as I glared at him, my blade itching to be my retort, wit not finding it’s way too well into this life’s arsenal. 

“Someone’s asking for a knife to the throat.”

“Touché.”

* * *

The Phantom Blade was truly a work of art now, as opposed to it’s base model. From observing an original in Greencoat’s hands, I knew the differences Denis had constructed, and could only approve.

The original appeared to work on a dart based system, tranquilizing, sound, and even explosive darts being capable of launching their way into unsuspecting goons in a moment.

Denis went for a different method, resulting in a more streamlined, yet bulkier model.

Fully integrated into my gauntlet, versus the flimsy crossbow of before, it now fired a mass variety of weaponry, from bolts and arrows, to capsules and darts. 

The package Denis had sent along had been generous, a “Trial” he had called it, informing me he would be charging for all new restock of ammunition, as I well expected of him. 

His genius more than made up for it.

My favorites of his inventions had to be the capsule system, for they weren’t exactly pills, more of… a fish oil membrane.

As I had demonstrated in the pub that very morning, I was a fan of the crimson capsules, ‘Psycho’ Denis had labeled it in his notes.

A chemical compound stored within a capsule device, that when pierced, would instantly change into a gaseous wave of pure aggression. 

It could turn saintly priests into violent psychopaths, and it did wonders for clearing a path… but there was another tool Denis had devised which amazed me.

A silencer. 

The man had the forethought to create a silencer for my pistol, and judging by how men dropped like stones with their heads punched through by a well placed shot, I could not be happier. 

And yet, I found myself annoyed as I followed the wily bastard, as despite me making it subtle when I took out his guards, he knew that he was being followed.

Looking over his shoulder every second, and bringing over more and more guards for his protection that I had to one by one remove from his squad, he was no longer on my Christmas list… 

And yet, I persisted in my ceaseless pursuit of him, knocking off guards as I went and giving the man a terrible sense of paranoia as I did.

I had to admit, it was fun as hell. 

It was when we reached the husk of a church, that the man seemed to panic fully and truly, yet another grouping of guards vanished without a noise and he was left to fend for himself against my tender mercies.

“Would you like to tell me what I want to know before I destroy you?” I growled out in question as I made myself known behind him, my hidden blade coming out to play as a harsh smile consumed my face. 

It appears that he recognized my voice, as he nearly took off running for the hills, and he probably would have gotten pretty far… if I had been alone. 

A shot ran out in the night as Greencoat lowered his rifle, the edge smoking as La Touche fell to the ground in a pitiful mess, his left leg nearly torn off by the blast of the shot.

Poetic justice in it’s most grimy, and I could only smile.

“Now then you little bastard, my friend and I come all this way to see you, and you try to run from your visitors! What sort of a host are you?” I asked with a growl as I stalked closer to the wounded traitor, his pitiful form attempting to scoot away from me as his leg continued to pour out onto the dirt, the raw muscle being eyed by literal rats. 

Even the filthy eat their own.

“The Adopted Cross… I see you’ve betrayed one father for your first, what a shame… Then again, you would die either way… The Grandmaster has plans for you boy…” La Touche whimpered out through the pain, a weakling, but a brave one.

Or perhaps incredibly, hilariously stupid.

I was leaning towards the latter.

“Now then mouse, I believe you’ve knowledge that we seek. Being a filthy Templar, I expect you’re privy to much that you should not be aware of. Where is your king?” Greencoat asked with a charm and grace I could never muster as he held his rifle aloft, the bayonet coming to graze along La Touche’s cheek as he passed the man by.

“You’re here for him? Good luck!” 

La Touché laughed out as he grew hysterical, the blood loss clearly getting to him as he fell backwards onto the ground, his own blood coming to stain his face as he rolled in his scarlet puddle. 

Seeing no better way to resolve this, I cast a mild Confundus at Greencoat and grabbed La Touché by the skull, forcing the man to look into my eyes.

And I opened a door inside my mind, and into his. 

**_“You come begging before the King, and offer nothing in turn?!”_ **

**_“My Lord, I beg only to please you.”_ **

**_“And to think, the heart of greed lies beneath the surface of pride.”_ **

**_“What do you ask of me, my Grandmaster?”_ **

I knew the tunnels now, my mind devouring what he knew of the Beggar King’s domain and plans, but now I held a mental image in my mind, of the Pretender.

The Grand Master of the Order that had attempted to take my second father from me, and to steal his place in the Order.

I saw nothing of his face, nor his name, but he wore an emerald cloak akin to a sorcerer, and I saw a medallion hanging from his neck.

A twisted silver cross had hung there, the edges of it gnarled and bent like raw metal pressed together.

A hint, but nothing more.

However, I had burnt out the man’s mind, and left him to rot in the ditch as I collected myself. 

I held no honor for rats.

Shaking Greencoat of his confusion, I captured his gaze and spurred him forward onto the path we had started. 

“Let’s kill this bastard before he runs again.” I said myself as he could only match my grin as I loaded another chamber into the Phantom Blade.

I had a feeling I would need it.

“What a sporting idea.”

* * *

The tunnels stunk of filth and loathing, and the goons that patrolled them were no better as they indulge themselves in stolen liquor and other sinful festivities.

I held my tongue after passing one too many, intimate couplings… But I did have some interesting positions to look into.

However, both Greencoat and I were put on edge as the very ground itself began to shake.

I knew it couldn’t be an earthquake, as none had occurred on this scale during the French Revolution, which meant something far more sinister. 

Taking careful steps, and keeping ourselves well out of the sight of the idiots that traversed the tunnels, we eventually found our way to a compound of sorts built into the tunnels. 

To our left, windows built into the barriers allowed us sight into a throne room full of goons, and there on a jagged throne, like some fool king, the silver haired man I had been hunting, 

**_Roi des Thunes_ **

**_The Beggar King_ **

The bastard looked content on his throne, but I could only stare in confusion at him.

He was attending to his people, a particularly large brute explaining away the loss of the men in the market, but the king of filth seemed more interested in the golden ball he held aloft.

I had a feeling that this wasn’t a good thing as Greencoat stiffened beside me, his eyes wide and afraid at the sight of the orb in the man’s hands.

“Greenie, the hell is that thing?” I tried to ask of the man, to no avail, as to my amazement the world around me began to slow to a halt… 

Waving a hand past my ally’s empty eyes, I took off with a deep breath, my steps echoing against stone as I made my way down the stairs.

And into the throne room, where the only man capable of movement aside from myself, was Roi des Thunes.

I mildly took notice of the glow the orb began to give off as I stepped closer, my pistol aimed at the smug look on the man’s face.

“Ah, Arno Dorian. I knew you would be coming and I took the liberty of ensuring we would speak alone. Can’t have unwanted ears listening to a conversation that’s none of their business, now can we?” The man asked cryptically as I could only glance back to Greencoat, assuming that he was what was meant.

Unknown to me, however, a lot of people would be upset that they couldn't see this exchange.

“Roi des Thunes, you have been found guilty of treason against the Templar Order, your punishment is death.” I said with a stern tone as I flicked back the hammer on my pistol, the trigger a mere breath away from being pulled as the Beggar King raised that damn orb to my sight.

And, I realized that it was familiar.

It was clearly the orb from my father’s hidden room, the one that had been broken into after the attempt on his life… yet I also recalled a similar artifact lives previously, when all I had known was the Egyptian sands and the way of the Medjay. 

“Put it down, you have no idea what you’re handling.” I ordered the man as he just laughed at me in turn, the orb glowing a bright hue as he moved it closer to me.

“Know not what I’m handling… Do you Arno? Or do you prefer a different name? Perhaps Riku, or Bayek? Perhaps Harry? I have seen you, I know you…” The Beggar King said in a whisper as I saw a golden glow dominate his eyes, and I realized that unlike before in the hidden room, the orb worked perfectly now.

The power the Ancients had wanted, now personified.

“I would prefer you to die horribly for your actions, rather than burn yourself up using that thing.” I retorted as I took a shot at the man, my bullet traveling faster than any could comprehend as it neared his brain.

And the bullet burned away into ash, Roi des Thunes as well as he ever had been. 

“Don’t you see, I have power beyond this realm boy? I have seen the worlds outside this one, the lanes in between and those that traverse them… and I have seen you… The lives you have lived, the ones you have yet to be born into… I know you, Avatar of Death.” The man said in a whisper song as he finally stood from his throne, the orb in his hand pulsing as he strode closer to me, my pistol forgotten as I lost myself in his words.

_What did he mean, Avatar of Death?_

“I no longer care for the petty war of my fellows, the ongoing debate of peace versus freedom, I merely wish to ascend beyond this plane as you do… So I shall. You consider your continued existence a curse, so I shall lift it from you.” Roi des Thunes said in a flowing speech as images began to hover in a golden light around us, pictures of the lives I had lived before merging with sights and people I had never seen before. A young girl running from a burned man, a man with shockingly pale skin conversing with a man in armor, a man with a long coat battling hellish monsters, and an undead looking boy with haunting eyes ripping a hand off of someone.

Visions of the future, one would say.

However, seeing proof of what lay ahead, and my moral compass not just yet having been corrected, I would not allow this monster to take the chance I had been given away.

“Not a chance.” I barked out as I infused a bit of magic into my pistol, the metal of it giving out a slight crack as I shot forward a brilliant blast of crimson energy at the man.

Which disappeared instantly. 

“Ah Harry, you don’t seem to understand… I hold your spirit in my hands, I can cause you a True Death… and you have no choice over the matter.” The man said with a snarky laugh as I felt a presence over my chest, my heart being gripped by a stern hand as I could barely breathe.

And with that, he held the orb aloft, and I could only scream in agony as the light drifted closer to me, and I absentmindedly held my arm in front of me in a desperate bid to protect my face from it.

And could only watch in horror as my hand began to dissolve into ash, floating away to the ground as my entire arm began to give way to nothing. 

With no words on my mind to say, I pulled myself together and took off into the tunnels, the man following me instantly as I felt my breath betray me.

The dark of the tunnels would give me shelter, or so I hoped.

I was now the rat in the maze, and I had a feeling I wouldn't be escaping the mad man, least now that he held godly power in his hands.

And I would be right. 

“Run all you like, but there is nowhere you can hide from me…”

* * *

I didn’t understand.

I faced him in the tunnels, that blast of energy the artifact gave off… I should be dead, and yet… I saw the light, not golden, but… a warm cobalt. 

To my surprise I was able to open my eyes, the world coming into focus around me, yet nothing like the life I had been living thus far.

Faded walls and torn furnishings traded in for artificial lighting and lab equipment… 

_Where the hell am I?_

To my right I caught sight of an older man in a lab coat, determined to ask him where I was, what had happened after the Apple had detonated.

Instead, a voice not my own spoke, a woman’s tone coming from my lips as I could only watch this spectacle without input or choice. 

“David, what happened to the memory?” 

I… I didn’t say that, yet I swear that I did… What did she mean by ‘memory’? What the hell happened after the explosion? 

“System outage, the servers are offline until we get them back up. Take five Darcy.” The man, David, said casually as he waved in the direction of some doors, and whoever I now was trapped in walked calmly off at that.

That name though… I had heard voices some time ago, were these them?

Was this the Darcy that had consumed my thoughts?

And better yet, how the hell do I get back to Paris?

**✠**


	9. Spectre

**Life 2: Shadows in the Sand…**

* * *

**(Siwa, Egypt, 47 B.C.)**

* * *

There had been no greater confusion, then when I had died in my sleep as an Englishman, my wife at my side… and awoken alone in a crumbling tomb within Ancient Egypt.

And yet, I adapted, as I had some understanding of it.

I had heard of reincarnation before, and Albus had always spoken of the ‘Next Great Adventure’, but I would never have believed it to take place in the past.

I had found a life here, happiness and a purpose, had found Ay- Amunet, my children, and so much more.

And yet, despite all that I had done as Bayek of Siwa, why now did I return to where my journey had started?

That damned temple, where I had buried the artifact so long ago, and where now a woman I had never seen before stood with it in hand.

Her form was strange, almost ghostlike, yet she held none of the mirth that so many spirits held, only a dark malicious grin on her face as she held the dull relic in her hands.

“You do not belong here.” I told her then, my voice dark with anger as I pulled forth my glowing blade, the metal of it matching the mechanics of the temple around me.

Of the Gods, they who came before, the Isu.

“I am the only one that belongs here, not least you.” The woman said in turn, her voice distant and impossible, like a million voices speaking all at once through one single form.

It hurt my mind like nothing I had ever endured before, my sanity shaken just from the sound of her voice and my blood freezing in my veins. 

“You have no idea of what you hold, drop it before you doom us all.” I argued in turn then, my eyes only on the orb and hoping that it wouldn’t do what I thought it would.

It had remained dull and lifeless for so long, and neither the Order nor I could breathe life into it… yet this otherworldly woman had awoken it.

With a thrum of power that nearly threw me from my feet, a golden glow devoured the orb, inscriptions and symbols flashing across it and shining through the air as the woman held the artifact towards me. 

“This isn’t even your life to live, your place to be, but you don’t matter yet Avatar. I speak to you now, as your Cipher can not notice me, but your purpose lasts beyond these sands.” She told me then as she stepped closer, her footsteps making not a sound as she glided towards me with the relic held out. 

And yet, despite all my instincts telling me to run, all I could do was stand there as she brought it closer, the heat of the relic burning its way through my soul and sanity.

“This Apple doesn’t belong to you human, and neither does this world.”

And with that, she was gone, and so was the relic.

The… Apple, she had called it. 

Perhaps the Sage would know more…

* * *

**Life 8: Aigle Doré**

* * *

**(Paris, France, November 26th, 2014 )**

* * *

Juhani Otso Berg had never imagined the path set before him, when it had all begun.

He had been a soldier once, fighting for his home and brothers in arms, he had spilled blood for the cause and done horrible things in the name of liberty. 

In many ways, he had grown desensitized to it all, the blood on his hands merely mixing with his own, the countless faces of the damned not even taking a footnote in his memories.

And yet, he had grown to care, when his entire life was forced to focus on killing others, and if he had to be honest, people that didn’t deserve it as much as he sometimes said to justify their deaths.

He didn’t hate the Assassins, like the others in the Order did, nor did he seek their utter destruction. 

He held no tragic incident with them, there was no Assassin that killed someone he loved and he didn’t believe in the Templar quest for world peace through mind control either.

He hadn’t picked up the Cross in order to change the world, he had been given no choice.

Even before that, he had gone down a darker road. An infant daughter, his dear Elina, dying while he could only watch and hope the treatments did something to heal her. 

Becoming a mercenary to afford the inflating costs, journeying across the world for doctors, healers, anyone that could take the illness away from her, give her the life he couldn’t guarantee her. 

Helmi hadn’t approved of his change in career, telling him that he had become a monster and that he couldn’t see the lives he was destroying, nor could he understand the hurt he had caused. 

She said their daughter’s life wasn’t worth him ending the lives of hundreds, that all he had sacrificed and killed to get for her, hadn’t been worth it. 

Helmi asked for a divorce, and Juhani had given it to her without question or arguement.

Considering she had told him to let their daughter die, and he had that on a recording, it was clear who would get custody.

It hadn’t been easy, and there had been nights where he had considered it, the treatments he had killed presidents and politicians to pay for weren’t working as well as they used to.

After all he had done, his daughter was still dying just as much as she had been before.

He had been at the end of his road, beside himself with panic and fear of losing his only daughter. 

Then Warren Vidic and the Templars had broken into his house in the night, offering him a choice.

Medicine they had created that could cure Elina’s Cystic Fibrosis, and in exchange… he played mercenary for them, became a Templar, and started killing people that didn’t deserve it…

He had accepted the offer, and then Vidic had proceeded to hold Elina’s life over him, any disobedience from Juhani meaning his daughter wouldn’t get her next dose.

Then Desmond Miles had killed Vidic, and Juhani was freed from that particular set of shackles, still a Templar, but one that now had Vidic’s job.

Of course, things were still terrible, and it was moments like this that he could get away from it all that soothed his soul a little.

His trips couldn't erase the dying faces from his mind, but he could sleep somewhat soundly. 

He had a bad habit of breaking away from it all when it became too much, taking a moment for himself away from the Order.

He had another bad habit.

“Daddy?” 

She picked up immediately, as he had trained her to, as he never knew when she could end up in danger. 

He had entrusted her to his sister, Viola being only too glad for the company, and another part of Juhani’s stress had fallen away as he no longer had to fit Elina around his Templar schedule. 

And despite all the sins he committed under Abstergo’s banner, he still made time to see his daughter, even if she didn’t know he was there. 

Viola had taken Elina to see the Eiffel Tower, calling it an adventure, and he could only let out a rare smile as he watched them from a distance, his phone in hand as his smile fell to sadness.

He was needed back in less time than he had assumed, his phone hit with question after question of when he was returning.

“How’s your day going sweetheart?” He asked of her over the phone, his eyes growing cold as he began to walk away, resolving himself to bridge the gap one day.

He’ll be there one day…

* * *

I know what happened to me in the tunnel. 

An Apple of Eden, a piece of Isu technology created to continue mankind’s enslavement by their once masters, an object of great power and intrigue. Each Apple served a different purpose, whether it be over gravity, the soul, or even time itself.

Scattered across the globe like buried treasures, the Apples, and the other pieces of Eden, rested in wait for someone to wield them.

The Templars and the Assassins now fought for control of these items, to control the fate of the world.

I understood all of this now, watching Darcy Kennedy as she went about her life, and that of her fellows.

She was a Templar, just as I was, yet of the modern age. Rather than subterfuge and plots, the Templars now ran a technology company and used it to sell a false narrative of the Assassins being monsters and psychopaths.

I have no doubt they were perhaps psychotic here or there, as I have no doubt there have been insane Templars… but seeing the Order like this, made me afraid.

Did the imposter Grandmaster win and corrupt the Order? Were the Assassins I knew wiped out because I had disappeared? Was there anyone left to save in my home, now that I had left them at the mercy of the traitor Templars… Had the Truce already been broken?

I held answers for none of these questions, as I was trapped in the form of Darcy, the woman assigned to observe my genetic memories… which was a hard pill to swallow.

Ever since the night Charles Dorian had been murdered, this woman had been watching every second of this life, only interrupted by the Apple of Eden detonating down in the tunnels, their servers had apparently been shut down due to a power outage.

More accurately, I think they couldn’t read any more memories because I wasn’t there to make them, instead being trapped in this woman’s mind.

Granted, she wasn’t awful or boring, instead being an optimistic idealist. She had seen the worst and best of the Templar Order, before being forced to join it with the alternative being her gruesome death, and yet she had gladly joined for the promise of protecting the world.

I had faced that same dilemma before, of how to protect people without taking their liberties away.

How do you ensure Free Will, if you have to infringe on it?

It was a severe problem, and yet Darcy wasn’t troubled. She believed neither approach was exactly right, and I found myself coming around to her line of thought.

Absolute freedom, as the Assassins adored, would only lead to destruction, anarchy, and chaos.

Absolute order, as the Templars sought, would only lead to people being nothing more than drones, and the world being predestined by corrupt hands and minds.

I knew this already, that neither worked truly, but perhaps it was a thought to bring back with me, if I ever managed to return.

The Templars were twisted, and it was clear that many of their number thought in the same way as many of their modern counterparts… and yet, while the Assassins were my allies, they weren’t right either… 

They had created a Truce, a cease fire to allow a potential for something more… perhaps…

Perhaps what we really need is a merger.

* * *

**(November 28th)**

* * *

I ranged from being bored and interested as I watched from within Darcy’s mind, her mundane life outside of studying me doing little to keep my attention, and yet… she interested me.

The Templars of the modern world were quite similar to the ones that I hunted, dark and controlling, but she knew that.

She had been threatened into joining the Order, her life practically taken over by her superiors… and still she threw her all into the cause.

She knew she worked for evil people, and despite being a virtuous person, she still chose to do all she could for the Cross.

Darcy was a confusing woman, that I was sure of. A good person choosing to aid evil people out of the kindness and determination of her heart and mind. 

I didn’t know whether to be proud that finally someone good came of my Order, or be upset that I apparently didn’t make a difference…

And that was a staggering blow.

I had taken it upon myself to get revenge on the Imposter Master, to purge the Order of traitors and monsters… and yet the modern Templar order was just like them.

Did I fail, or was the Templar Order just prone to attract evil, just as the Assassins attracted the reckless and unstable? 

I had a feeling I would never truly know, but I was determined to find out…

* * *

“Darcy…? Darcy Kennedy?” A man’s friendly voice said aloud then, drawing my attention away from my reflections and back to my current host’s life, the woman trying her best to relax in a cafe, only for this bleached haired Fabian to come along… 

He wasn’t French, the Spanish accent sticking out as the man came to sit before Darcy, a surprised smile on his lean face.

“It is you! I know we always talked about hitting it big, but look at us! Together in Paris, I can’t help but say we’ve done it.” The man said passionately before Darcy could even greet him, a twitch of her eyebrow in annoyance going unnoticed by the flippant bastard.

“Mavi, it’s been some time… Still working with Blume?” Darcy asked of the man when he finally took a breath, a wild and shining smile on the man’s face as I caught sight of the ID hanging from his neck. Blume Technologies… Obviously another tech firm, but hopefully this one wasn’t run by an ancient order that sought to control humanity… 

“Oh yes, the stuff coming out of our labs, like something out of a dream. But you took that job with Abstergo, right? You were always obsessed with history…” The man, Mavi, said then as I could only huff at his nature as I toiled away in the back of Darcy’s mind.

I could sense there was a history between the two, but I frankly wasn’t too impressed by the guy, or his need to talk and belittle a person at the same time. 

“I do important work Mavi, I’m exploring history, we went over this when I left.” Darcy said in a harsh tone then, her face darkening as it seemed that he hit a nerve of hers, this dance of theirs likely being a common one.

“You’re digging around in some Frenchie’s head now, right? Arnold Dorian, right? What’s with you and long dead serial killers anyway? Are you really so disconnected from reality that you relate to some old psycho?” The man asked with an obnoxious shake of the head as both Darcy and I could only roll our eyes, mine being purely mental.

And hadn’t that been a surprise, Abstergo and the Templars used genetic memories of Assassins to create video games portraying the Assassin order as murderous anarchists.

They truly took advantage of the situation, I’ll give them that.

“Arno Dorian was a member of the King’s Court, but I suppose you look at his life and just see Guillotines and murders, Mavi…” Darcy barked back at him then, her eyes as annoyed as I felt as I wondered why she was even still sitting here with the guy, nothing but passive insults coming from him from the moment he sat down. 

If I was steering, I would have left by now.

“You wound me Darcy, but that’s beside the point. I actually came here with an offer from corporate. Blume would love for you to join the team, your old studies on social patterns could be useful in finding those hackers.” Mavi said with a wild grin then, finally getting to the point that had brought him here, and I could not believe the audacity of the man.

Insult someone’s life and livelihood, and then try to recruit them… 

Then again, I had done the same thing in my attempt to recruit Victor… who i left behind in Versailles… I needed to get back in contact with him, once I’m no longer a fly on the wall in 2014… 

“Firstly, I’m comfortable where I’m at, but are you talking about Erudito?” Darcy bit back at him, as she did seem pretty comfortable with the idea of watching my life, which was kind of flattering.

However, the talk of hackers caught her attention. 

“That the group with the torch logo? No, it’s this new one, Deadtech, or something. Bunch of kids playing around with Blume’s networks. We need someone like you to determine where they’ll hit next.” Mavi said in his best used car salesman's impression as he slid a card across the booth to her, the woman merely ignoring it as a sharp smile came out her face.

“Last thing I want is more conflict Mavi, least of all from my current bosses, but you always did love causing trouble…” She said in a quiet tone then as she gathered her bag together, her drink left discarded as she left the man as he was, it being more than clear that he hadn’t come to see her.

Yet another person that only wanted to use her, and I knew that feeling well… 

Hopefully I can get out of here so she can actually continue my memories… if I ever get to make any more….

* * *

**(October 2nd)**

* * *

“Testing, testing… Recording is optimal. Today we resume the Golden Eagle project after an unexpected outage of the Helix Servers. Templar Analyst Kennedy will be resuming the memories of Templar Arno Dorian after an encounter with a Piece of Eden. Previously, Dorian confronted a rival Templar and caused the man’s Apple to detonate, the power given off likely enough to overload the simulation.” David spoke aloud as the recording ticked by, Darcy lying comfortably in the Animus seat as her visor hid her vision from the world, and a part of her had to admit she had missed doing this.

Seeing a city changed so very much by time, and pure in it's old time, it was a marvel to see. 

She even found herself drawn into Arno’s philosophy of what a Templar should be, and seeing a civil war within the Order…? 

It was amazing, it was history and so much more than she ever expected to see when she signed up with Abstergo.

However, if only the damn servers would cooperate, she would have already jumped back into Arno’s boots days before.

“Beginning Animus synchronization start up… Helix servers are ready and waiting… Connection established.” The technician read aloud as the boards before him lit up in lights, the lull of the Animus pulling Darcy under as she saw the familiar flash of lights and forward push of the loading procedure… but to her surprise, she wasn’t in an aged Paris on the verge of a revolution… she was watching herself, sitting in the Animus… watching herself.

“What the hell?” She could hear David call out through the memory, her mind racking to try and understand why Arno Dorian’s memory was showing her… herself. 

“It appears that the system is still flawed after the outage… rather than observing the memories of Arno Dorian, Kennedy is currently observing her own memory of events, as they happen…. Not at all what the schedule demands, but remarkable all the same.” David called out in turn as she too was confused, wondering what wire had crossed to allow her a bird’s eye view of her own body.

It was surreal.

“David, it’s clear that nothing’s working, shut the system down, we’ll try again tomorrow.” Otso Berg’s voice rang out then over the intercom, and Darcy could only frown in disappointment. She had hoped to get back to work, but… 

She felt the oddest feeling then, like someone lying beside her on the Animus table, yet she knew that no one was there.

She tried to ignore the chills along her spine as David began to count out the pullout numbers, her mind slowly being pulled out of her memory as the light on the inside of the headset came into view.

“Berg, we’ve got an issue.”

The last thing she wanted to hear… 

“What’s the issue David?” 

“It appears that while Kennedy has been desynched as intended, a part of her is still inside the Helix database… Like, a fraction of her mind has been left behind in the servers….” 

It was then that she threw the headset aside, her eyes worried as she stared at the technician who could only give her a confused look in turn.

“What?!”

* * *

The light finally died out as I registered pain all across my body.

I was back, that was clear by the ragged hood obscuring my vision, and the heaving form of the Templar at my feet. 

The Beggar King without his shining Apple to defend himself.

I had returned, and I could only cough up blood as my eyes began to fall closed.

My exhaustion was overwhelming, leaving me no choice as I fell into a well deserved and much pained sleep. 

It was good to be home…

* * *

Unknown to either Templars, a being beyond their realm watched their separation quite closely, a careful eye on Arno as he was returned to the life he had been meant to live. 

A man unlike any other, a glowing spectre watching over the unconscious form of the Templar, only a spare glance being given towards the Beggar King he had come to these tunnels to find.

Knowing that things needed to advance, rather than stagnate, the being made a decision.

With not a single motion or any sign he was even paying attention, Roi des Thunes would never get another chance to escape, the bone of his spine meeting air as the man’s head was torn clean off by an invisible force.

“You may not be aware Arno, but you shall hear these words one day…” The being said softly as he approached the sleeping man, the makeshift cloak burned away as the Templar lay battered and bleeding from the explosion, but very much alive. 

“They can’t be trusted… Find them all…” 

And with a cryptic message given to a man unwarranted to have even heard it, the spectre was gone and the tunnels were once more plunged into darkness.

Arno Dorian slept on, none the wiser… 

  
  



End file.
